Fireside Books: Fireside Books in Parksville now has a second location in Port Alberni, the BookWyrm. Used books are just $5 or less. The BookWyrm, on the corner of Redford and Anderson, opens seven days a week from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Fireside Books, at 464 Island Highway East in Parksville, is a book dragon’s dream come true. Browse their extensive collections seven days a week, or order online at firesidebooks.ca and pick up at either location. Ask about returning books for a book credit.

Eddie Van Haddock & The Rockfish: In a little town by the sea, where the stories never end, lived Captain Dave and his crew, every child’s favourite friend. With a smile as wide as the ocean and a heart that’s full of dreams, he sails a Mellow Submarine where magic gleams and beams. Every morning at sunrise, when the world awakes anew, Captain Dave and his crew set sail in waters deep and blue. Through the ticking clock of time, where adventures come alive, they laugh and learn and play each day in their underwater dive.

Dave Graham: The Mellow Submarine hummed along through the green water off French Creek Harbour, its round little windows glowing like two friendly eyes in the deep. Captain Dave sat at the wheel, whistling an old sailor’s tune, while First Mate Larry the Lobster balanced on his usual perch beside the control panel, clipboard in one claw and pencil in the other.

“Depth check, Larry, if you please,” said Captain Dave. Larry squinted at his clipboard. “Aye, Captain. Depth check reads… Oh, hold on.” He patted around the panel with his free claw. “Where did my pencil go?” “You’re holding your pencil, Larry.” Larry looked down. Sure enough, the pencil was tucked neatly under his claw. “Ah, yes, I knew that.” He cleared his throat. “Depth, twelve metres. Water temperature, chilly but respectable. Mood aboard the submarine, excellent.” Captain Dave chuckled. “Good, because today we have a very special invitation.” “An invitation?” Larry’s antenna perked straight up. “From who? Whom? Which one is it?” “Whom,” said Captain Dave, “and it’s from Marina.”

Larry nearly dropped his pencil. Marina the Mermaid was an old friend of the Mellow Submarine, a bright-tailed, sharp-witted mermaid who had helped them once before, back when a tangle of old fishing rope had trapped a young harbour seal near the harbour breakwater. Marina had shown up out of nowhere, humming a strange, lovely tune that seemed to calm the frightened seal long enough for Captain Dave to work the rope free.

Since then, she and the crew of the Mellow Submarine had crossed paths now and then, always near the kelp beds, always with a wave and a splash, and a promise to visit properly someday. “Someday is today,” said Captain Dave, steering the submarine toward a wall of golden brown kelp swaying gently in the current.

“Marina sent word through a very reliable messenger.” “Who?” “A harbour porpoise. Very fast, very polite.” Larry scribbled furiously on his clipboard. “Noted. Porpoise, reliable. Continue.” Ahead, the kelp forest rose up from the sea floor like an underwater jungle, tall ribbons of golden kelp stretching from the sandy bottom all the way up toward the sunlit surface far above.

And there, weaving between the kelp stalks with a flick of her shimmering blue-green tail, was Marina. “Captain Dave, Larry,” she called, swimming right up to the submarine’s window and pressing her hand against the glass. “You made it.” “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Captain Dave, adjusting the communication system in order to hear her more clearly.

“Larry’s been talking about this invitation all morning.” “I have not,” said Larry. “I mentioned it perhaps six times.” Marina laughed, a sound like little bells underwater. “Well, today’s the day. I want to show you my home, my real home down in the kelp forest where I grew up.” Larry’s pencil froze mid-scribble.

“Your actual home, with walls and everything?” “Sort of,” said Marina, grinning. “Follow me, and Captain Dave, keep the lights low. It’s easier on the eyes down where we’re going.” Captain Dave dimmed the submarine’s outer lights and eased the throttle forward, following the flash of Marina’s tail as she led them deeper into the kelp forest.

The tall kelp stalks parted around them like curtains, each one anchored to a rock far below by something Marina called a holdfast. “A holdfast,” Larry repeated, pencil scratching. “It’s like a root, but it doesn’t grow into the rock. It just grips it,” Marina explained, tugging gently on one of the kelp stalks.

“The whole forest is held up by thousands of these little grips all the way from the sea floor to the surface.” “And who lives in a kelp forest besides mermaids?” asked Captain Dave, though he already knew the answer. He liked hearing Marina tell it. “Everyone,” said Marina, spreading her arms wide. “Rockfish hide in the shady parts.

Kelp crabs climb up and down the stalks like it’s a jungle gym, and sea otters float on their backs right up at the top, wrapped in kelp so the current doesn’t carry them away while they nap.” “Clever,” said Larry, sounding a little envious. “I’ve never once thought to wrap myself in seaweed for a nap.” “You should try it sometime,” said Marina.

“The otters are also the reason this whole forest is still here. They eat sea urchins, and sea urchins eat kelp. Too many urchins, and the whole forest could disappear.” Captain Dave nodded. “Balance. Every creature in the kelp forest has a job, even if it doesn’t look like a job.” They moved on, and a shadow slid past the submarine’s window, long and rippling.

Larry yelped and dropped his pencil for the third time that morning. “Relax,” said Marina, laughing. “That’s just Wanda.” “Wanda?” Larry peered out cautiously. A giant Pacific octopus unfurled one long arm in a lazy wave before tucking herself into a crevice between two rocks, her skin shifting from red to speckled grey to match the stone.

“She’s lived near my cave longer than I have,” said Marina. “Octopuses like her can squeeze through a gap no bigger than an orange if they really need to. She keeps an eye on things when I’m not around. Sort of a neighbourhood watch, but with eight arms.” A little further on, a cluster of seahorses drifted past, tails curled around a strand of kelp, bobbing gently as though anchored to nothing at all.

“They hold on with their tails so the current doesn’t sweep them away,” Marina explained. “Grip tight, drift easy. My grandmother always said that was a fine way to live, in the water or out of it.” Captain Dave smiled at that. “Sounds like good advice for a submarine crew, too.” And on they went, deeper still, until the kelp thinned out and revealed a wall of pale grey rock tucked into the side of an underwater ridge.

A crack in the rock just wide enough for a mermaid or a small submarine led into darkness. “Here we are,” said Marina, disappearing into the crack with a flick of her tail. Larry looked at Captain Dave. “Are we sure this is a home and not a cave a very large fish lives in?” “Only one way to find out,” said Captain Dave, and he guided the Mellow Submarine gently through the opening.

Inside, the cave opened up into a wide, glowing room, and Larry’s clipboard clattered right out of his claw in surprise. The walls were covered in thousands of tiny shimmering points of light, blue and green and silver, drifting and pulsing like slow-motion stars. “Plankton,” Marina said proudly, watching Larry’s face.

“Tiny creatures so small you’d need a microscope to see just one, but when thousands of them gather together in a quiet, sheltered spot like this, they glow. My grandmother used to say the whole cave was singing, just with light instead of sound.” “Your grandmother lived here too?” asked Captain Dave. “My whole family did,” said Marina, swimming slowly through the glowing water, trailing tiny sparks behind her.

“This cave has been a mermaid home for as long as anyone can remember. See the shelves?” She pointed to ledges carved into the rock, each one lined with smooth stones, sand dollars, and curled white shells. “Every mermaid who lives here adds one shell when they arrive, and one when they leave, so the cave remembers everyone who ever called it home.”

Captain Dave moved the submarine closer to the shelves, being careful not to bump into anything, and Larry looked more closely. “That’s rather lovely, Marina. A bit like my clipboard, actually. Every trip I take, I add a new page.” “Exactly like that,” said Marina, smiling. She led them further in, past a garden of purple and orange anemones planted in neat rows along the cave floor, their soft tentacles waving gently in the current.

“This is my favourite part,” Marina said. “My grandmother planted the first anemones here, and my mother added more. Now I tend the garden, too. Anemones don’t move around much on their own, so if you want a garden of them, you plant them carefully and let the current do the rest.” “What do they eat?” asked Larry.

“Tiny bits of food that drift by,” said Marina, “and in return, they give shelter to little fish, like this fellow.” A small orange-and-white-striped fish darted out from between the anemone’s tentacles and then back in again. “That’s a juvenile kelp greenling. He’s lived in that same anemone for two whole months. Doesn’t even flinch anymore when I visit.” Captain Dave watched the little fish duck in and out. “It’s a whole neighbourhood down here, isn’t it?” “It is,” said Marina. Her smile faded just slightly. “Which is why I wanted to show you something else, something that’s been bothering me.” She swam toward the back corner of the cave, where the glowing plankton thinned out and the light dimmed.

There, tangled around a cluster of kelp, was a length of old, faded fishing net drifting loose in the current. “It washed in a few days ago,” Marina said. “Caught on the rocks outside, and the current pulled it right into the garden. I’ve tried to move it myself, but it’s heavier than it looks, and I’m worried it will smother the anemones if it stays much longer.”

Larry was already scribbling on his retrieved clipboard. “Ghost net. That’s what fishers call it when a net gets lost and keeps catching things long after anyone meant it to.” “That’s right,” said Captain Dave gently. “It’s not anyone’s fault exactly. Nets get torn loose in storms or slip off a boat by accident. But once they’re adrift, they can keep tangling up creatures for years if nobody finds them.” “Well,” said Marina, “I found this one. I just couldn’t move it alone.” “Then it’s a good thing you invited a submarine with a very strong claw arm,” said Captain Dave, already guiding the Mellow Submarine closer.

Working together, Captain Dave used the submarine’s gentle mechanical arm to lift one end of the net while Marina guided it free from the anemones, careful not to tug too hard. Larry, for his part, supervised loudly and occasionally offered advice that nobody asked for. Slowly, patiently, the net came loose, and Captain Dave folded it carefully into a collection bin on the outside of the submarine. “We’ll bring it up to shore,” he said, “and make sure it’s disposed of properly so it never drifts into anyone’s home again.”

Marina let out a long breath and smiled, watching her anemone garden sway freely once more. “Thank you, truly. This cave has been my family’s home for generations. It’s strange to think something so small could have caused so much trouble.” “It’s not strange,” said Captain Dave. “It’s exactly why paying attention matters. The ocean is full of homes we can’t always see. Yours, the greenlings, the otters up in the kelp canopy. Taking care of one usually means taking care of them all.” Larry nodded solemnly, and then ruined the moment slightly by losing his pencil again, fishing for it behind his own claw with some dignity.

As the glow of the plankton shimmered around them, Marina swam a slow circle through the cave, trailing light behind her like a ribbon. “You know,” she said, “my grandmother always said the cave sings for the ones who take care of it. I think today it’s singing for you two as well.” Before they left, Marina pressed one smooth white shell into Larry’s claw. “For your own collection, so you always remember the way back.” “I shall treasure it,” said Larry, tucking it carefully beside his pencil, “right next to my notes on holdfasts, urchins, and the general excellence of sea otter napping techniques.”

As the Mellow Submarine eased back out through the crack in the rock, Captain Dave glanced once more at the glowing cave, the swaying anemones, and Marina waving from the entrance of her family’s home. “Will you come back for another visit?” she called. “Count on it,” said Captain Dave. And with a gentle hum, the Mellow Submarine turned back toward the sunlit water above, carrying with it a small white shell, a tangle of old net bound for shore, and a story that Larry would be telling for weeks to come.

Eddie Van Haddock & The Rockfish: When the night falls softly and stars light up the sky, Captain Dave tucks his crew in with a gentle lullaby. Dreams of whales and mermaids, of treasures lush and green, await each little sailor aboard the Mellow Submarine.

Fireside Books: There’s exciting news for book lovers. Fireside Books in Parksville now has a second location in Port Alberni, the BookWyrm. Used books are just five dollars or less. The BookWyrm, on the corner of Redford and Anderson, opens seven days a week from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Fireside Books, at 464 Island Highway East in Parksville, is a book dragon’s dream come true. Browse their extensive collections seven days a week. Order online at firesidebooks.ca and pick up at either location. Details available online. Ask about returning books for a book credit.