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 morning sun was still stretching itself awake over French Creek Harbour when the Mellow Submarine slipped beneath the waves. She was painted a soft, sunny yellow from bow to stern, round and friendly looking, with a wide front window that let Captain Dave see the whole underwater world spread out in front of him.
Inside that window, Captain Dave hummed a tune while he checked the dials, and beside him, First Mate Larry, the lobster, clicked his clipboard against his claw the way he always did when a patrol was about to begin. “Morning routine check,” Larry announced, holding his clipboard up close to his eye stalks.
“Oxygen levels, good. Ballast tanks, good. Pencil, missing.” “Missing again?” Captain Dave chuckled, steering the submarine in a gentle loop past a bed of swaying bull kelp. “It appears to have wandered off,” Larry said with great dignity, patting along the little pocket on his diving vest. “Pencils do that. It’s a known behaviour.”
Captain Dave smiled and was about to answer when the radio on the control panel crackled to life. A cheerful, slightly bubbly voice came through the speaker. “Mellow Submarine, Mellow Submarine, this is Pearl Dream. Do you read me? Over.”
Larry’s eye stalk shot straight up. “That is Shelly. That is Shelly the Sea Turtle.”
Captain Dave reached for the radio with a grin. Shelly was an old friend of theirs, a sea turtle who piloted her own submarine, a smooth, rounded, deep green vessel named Pearl Dream, built to look just like her own shell. The two crews had crossed paths before out on the water, and whenever Shelly’s voice came through the radio, it usually meant something interesting was about to happen.
“Pearl Dream, this is Captain Dave. We read you loud and clear. Good to hear your voice, Shelly. Over.”
“Captain Dave, I’m so glad I found you,” Shelly said. Even through the crackly radio, they could hear that her voice was a little tighter than usual, a little more serious.
“I am near Lasqueti Island, north of you across the strait, and I have found a young harbour seal pup in trouble,” she went on. “He is caught in some rope, an old crab trap that must have broken loose from its line a long time ago. His mother is close by, but she cannot free him, and I do not think Pearl Dream and I can manage it alone. Over.”
Captain Dave’s smile faded into something calm and focused, the look he always got when there was real work to do.
“We’re on our way, Shelly. Hang tight. Over.” He set a new course on the panel, and the Mellow Submarine tilted gently forward, gliding out past the harbour markers and into the open water of the Strait of Georgia, the wide channel of sea that separates Vancouver Island from the mainland of British Columbia.
“A ghost trap,” Larry murmured, flipping to a fresh page on his clipboard, since apparently a spare pencil had turned up in a different pocket after all. “That is what fishers and scientists call it when a crab trap or a net gets lost or left behind in the ocean. Nobody means for it to stay down there, but once it’s lost, it can keep on catching things for years and years, even though nobody is checking it anymore.”
“That’s right,” Captain Dave said. “It’s one of the trickiest problems in the ocean, because the gear itself isn’t bad. Crab traps do important work when fishers are using them properly, but a trap that’s been forgotten just sits on the bottom, rope drifting, and any curious creature that swims by can get tangled without meaning to.”
“Like a seal pup,” Larry said quietly. “Like a seal pup,” Captain Dave agreed. The trip north took them past the rocky shoulders of Lasqueti Island, a small, quiet island known for its forests, its farms, and the clear water that surrounded it. Captain Dave pointed out a raft of bull kelp swaying below them, its long amber stalks rising up from the sea floor like a forest reaching for the sunlight far above.
“Harbour seals love waters like this,” Captain Dave said. “They can hold their breath for almost half an hour when they dive, and their whiskers are so sensitive they can feel a fish swimming by in the dark just from the tiny ripples it leaves behind.” “Remarkable whiskers,” Larry said, giving his own antenna a thoughtful wiggle as though comparing notes.
“The pups stay close to their mothers for their first few weeks,” Captain Dave went on. “They’re curious, and curious young seals sometimes swim right up to things they shouldn’t, old gear included.” “This whole stretch of water is part of the Salish Sea,” Captain Dave explained. “It’s home to the Coast Salish peoples, who have cared for these waters and these islands for thousands of years, long before submarines like ours ever came along.
“Some of the local First Nations run guardian programs today, where trained guardians patrol the water, watch over the health of the sea, and report exactly the kind of trouble we’re headed toward right now.” “So we’re not the only ones keeping an eye on things,” Larry said, sounding pleased by the idea. “Not even close,” Captain Dave said.
“It takes a lot of eyes to look after an ocean this big.” Up ahead, a round, dark green shape came into view through the water, gliding with slow, powerful strokes of two front flippers. Pearl Dream looked exactly like its captain, smooth and domed like a turtle shell, with two round windows near the front that looked almost like a pair of curious eyes.
“There she is,” Larry said. Captain Dave eased the Mellow Submarine alongside Pearl Dream, and a moment later, Shelly’s face appeared in her window, her expression tight with worry, but her voice steady. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “He’s just over here.”
She led them a short distance to a patch of sandy sea floor near a cluster of rocks.
There, a small harbour seal pup was struggling weakly against a tangle of old, slimy rope that had looped around one of its flippers and trailed off to a rusted, algae-covered crab trap wedged between two rocks. His mother floated nearby, watching, unable to help. The pup’s dark eyes were wide, and every time he tried to pull free, the rope tightened just a little bit more.
“Easy now,” Captain Dave said softly, more to the pup than to anyone else, even though the little seal couldn’t understand the words. He guided the Mellow Submarine closer, slow and steady, no sudden movements. “Larry, quiet approach. We don’t want to frighten him.” “Understood,” Larry whispered, though whispering was difficult for a lobster.
“I can get close without scaring him,” Shelly said. “Sea turtles move slowly through the water, and seals seem to find us calming for some reason. I’ll come alongside him and let him feel that he’s not alone, but my flippers aren’t built for untangling rope. That part needs claws.”
“That,” said Larry, straightening up with quiet pride, “is precisely what I have.”
It was decided. Shelly guided Pearl Dream in first, drifting up beside the frightened pup with slow, gentle movements, humming a low, rumbling turtle hum that seemed to settle him almost at once. His thrashing slowed. He turned one dark eye toward the big, round, green shape beside him, and seemed to understand, in the way animals sometimes do, that help had arrived.
“Good boy,” Shelly murmured. “That’s it. Stay easy.”
Captain Dave brought the Mellow Submarine in close on the other side, careful not to bump the rocks, and opened a small hatch near the front where Larry could reach out with his claws. “Steady,” Captain Dave said. “Take your time.” Larry extended his claws toward the rope wound around the pup’s flipper.
Up close, he could see it was old fishing line, gone soft and slippery with algae, wrapped three times around, and knotted tight from the pup’s own struggling. “This will take patience,” Larry said. “Captain Dave, hold us level. Shelly, keep him calm.”
“He’s calm. Go ahead, Larry,” Shelly said. Snip. The first loop of rope fell away.
The pup flinched, but Shelly’s low hum kept him from bolting. Snip. The second loop loosened. Larry worked with the same careful precision he used when clipping charts to his clipboard: no wasted movement, no rushing. “One more,” Larry said. “Steady. Steady.” Snip. The last loop of rope drifted free, and the seal pup, feeling his flipper move freely for the first time in who knew how long, gave a joyful wiggling kick and shot forward through the water like a little grey torpedo, straight into the waiting flippers of his mother.
Inside both submarines, there was a moment of pure, quiet cheering. “You did it,” Shelly’s voice crackled with relief through the radio. “We did it,” Captain Dave corrected gently. “All three of us.” Larry examined his claws with satisfaction, then noticed something. “My pencil,” he said, “has fallen out of my vest and is currently drifting past the front window.”
“Grab it before it becomes a ghost pencil,” Captain Dave said, and even Shelly laughed through the radio. There was still one piece of work left to do. The old crab trap remained wedged between the rocks, its rope trailing loose now, ready to catch some other curious creature if it was left where it was. “We can’t just leave it,” Larry said, already jotting a note on his clipboard.
“We won’t,” Captain Dave said. “There’s a group called the Coastal Restoration Society that works right here on the coast, pulling up old lost gear like this trap and recycling what they can. If we bring it up and mark the location, they can come collect it properly and make sure it never tangles anyone again.”
Together, the Mellow Submarine’s claw arm and Pearl Dream’s sturdy front flippers worked the trap loose from the rocks. It wasn’t heavy, just stubborn, and between Larry directing, Shelly steadying, and Captain Dave guiding the controls, the trap came free and was carefully secured to the outside of the Mellow Submarine for the trip home.
“Teamwork,” Shelly said. “Pearl Dream and the Mellow Submarine make quite a pair.”
“We should do this again,” Larry said, “minus the part where a seal pup is in danger. That part I could do without.” “Agreed,” Captain Dave said. “But I’ll take the teamwork part any day.” Before they turned for home, a small boat puttered past overhead, its hull painted with a raven design.
Shelly’s voice came through the radio again, brighter now. “That’s one of the Guardians out on her morning patrol,” she said. “I’ll radio her the trap’s old location so the Coastal Restoration Society knows exactly where to send a crew.”
“Good,” Captain Dave said. “The more of us watching this water, the better off it is.”
As the two submarines turned south together back toward Lasqueti Island’s shore, and then on toward French Creek Harbour, the seal pup and his mother followed for a while at a respectful distance, as if to say thank you in the only way they could, before turning off toward a quiet cove to rest. “You know,” Captain Dave said, watching them go, “the ocean’s a big place, Larry.
“Too big for any one submarine or any one crew to look after all by itself. That’s why it matters when different crews find ways to work together, whether that’s a lobster with a good pair of claws, a turtle with a calming hum, or a Guardian keeping watch from the surface.” Larry nodded slowly, tapping his pencil against his clipboard.
“I shall add that to my notes under the heading Things Worth Remembering, which is why it helps to have friends who pilot turtle-shaped submarines and hum very calming turtle hums.”
Shelly’s voice crackled once more through the radio. “Exactly. See you both out here again soon. Pearl Dream out.”
The radio clicked off, and Pearl Dream peeled away toward the open strait, a smooth, dark green shape growing smaller against the blue.
Captain Dave settled back in his seat and looked over at Larry, who was carefully writing Rescue Complete across the top of a fresh page, pencil firmly in claw at last. “Good day’s work,” Captain Dave said. “The best kind,” Larry agreed. “The kind where everybody gets to swim home.” And with that, the Mellow Submarine turned for home, too, gliding quietly through the kelp forests and the green Vancouver Island water, ready for whatever the sea would bring them next.
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.
