To Share A Fire

 

“It’s all Companions? It’s two thousand square kilometers for God’s sake!” exclaimed Cassie.

“Mm-hmm,” replied Talia staring at the horizon absently. They were camping for the day and having set up in the afternoon were sitting on the beach at Tsusiat Falls, a point of interest along the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island.

“And zero people?” Cassie confirmed.

“A few come and go,” replied Talia. “They offer trail riding and fishing retreats out of a small resort. They want to be on good terms. But no people live there permanently.”

“How many?” asked Cassie.

“Just under ten thousand, which is larger than the population of most small towns in BC.”

“I never heard of this place before,” said Cassie. “How do you know all this?”

“Grew up in Merritt. Nearest town to the lake,” she answered and then carried on.

“During the Climate Emergency the Western US mega-drought slowly moved up the Okanagan corridor from Washington State. In not too many years the Douglas Lake Ranch was bust. Oldest, largest ranch in Canada but the drought killed off the cattle and their few crops and you can’t carry a liability like that forever no matter how rich you are. Especially when everything else was going to hell. It was scrubby land to begin with and now it was effectively worthless. A group of investors bought it for pennies on the dollar. They explained their plan to the federal and provincial governments who granted them significant tax breaks.

“Instead of beef they produced alternatives made from legumes, fungus, yeast, insects, bacteria, and all kinds of low-cost foods with small footprints but high nutritional value. Far more sustainable and a thousand times more cost-effective. The government was happy to help and they had no problem attracting other investors whose old-world portfolios had gone up in smoke along with the forests. The entire operation was automated and run by early model Companions. Due to the population reduction mandate there was no shortage of work and a need for new food sources so no one complained. A hundred years later the Companions themselves became shareholders and now they own the majority of the shares.”

Just as Talia was finishing her answer they noticed two men walking up the beach. The men waved hello and then began to set up in the adjacent campsite. As the sun began to set the men did something surprising – they started a small campfire. Collecting wood for campfires had long been illegal on the West Coast Trail but the men were not using wood. They were using something they had brought with them. After they got it going one of them came over to the two women.

“Hello,” he said. “Would you care to join us? I’ll invite the others as well,” he said gesturing to the small campground in general to put them at ease.

The two women smiled and nodded their agreement and headed over the campfire as he went over to the next campsite. Sitting down they greeted their host.

“Hi, I’m Talia.”

“Cassie,” the other said.

“I’m Hasan,” he said smiling. “My friend is Logan.”

He looked to the setting sun and said, “It is so beautiful here,” and fell silent.

Talia and Cassie quickly fell under the spell of the fire. This was the kind of experience travelers lived for, unexpected and beautiful.

Others came to join them, introducing themselves and finding a spot.

After a few minutes Talia woke from her reverie. Hasan spoke without an accent but it is an ancient habit of travelers to ask where the other is from.

“The interior,” Hasan said in reply to Talia’s question. “Douglas Lake. We’ve never been to the coast before.”

“I grew up in Merritt,” she said meeting his eyes. Understanding her meaning he smiled and nodded in response.

“Isn’t that stuff heavy?” asked another young woman pointing to the fire.

“Yes,” said Logan as he rejoined them, “but we don’t need to carry food so our packs are probably lighter than yours. We make it ourselves.”

“Ah,” responded the woman drawing out the sound as enlightenment dawned.

“Douglas Lake Foods,” she said.

“That’s us,” Logan said as if confessing.

“I love your stuff,” said a young man enthusiastically. “Too bad you didn’t bring any.”

“I said we didn’t need to bring any, not that we didn’t bring any,” Logan said as he reached into his pack.

He retrieved a box of a dozen small, heavy cakes, opened it and passed it to to the young man.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed taking one and passing the box along.

There was silence for a few minutes.

Slowly people began to ask Logan and Hasan about life at Douglas Lake. They didn’t mind. This was what they had hoped for. To share a fire.

After a while the night deepened and the talk died down. Soon there was little other sound than the quiet lapping of the waves and the occasional sound from the fire. Three hundred kilometers away at Douglas Lake the rest of Hasan and Logan’s extended family shared in their communion.

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