3. Happy Eaglets, Tall Trees, & Pinot Noir

Day 5 - 7, Monday through Wednesday, unfolded in that mid-vacation rhythm — slow mornings under tall BC trees, dinner with cousins, and my BnB hosts kindly offering to do the dishes so I don’t have to.

A vacation where mom doesn’t have to cook and clean?! And still enjoying homecooked meals? Now, that’s how to get a five-star review!

We arrived back at our BnB late Sunday due to some ferry delays, so Monday morning in Cobble Hill was quiet. The kids played and recovered from our Vancouver adventure while I went out for a solo walk — cold air, steady steps, breathing it in and wondering if we could one day live here.

At 4pm we drove down to Langford (neighbourhood in Victoria) to see Will and Rachel at his condo. Note: a man with top cookware - is a serious cook! Must try one of his soups.

Will showed the girls his workshop where he builds and hand-paints figurines (mostly for the board game Warhammer), and—let me tell you—it is not a casual hobby. It’s a full operation. Lamps angled. Rows of paint bottles in disciplined formation. Instruction sheets taped up. Miniature warriors in various stages of transformation. Precision tools.

It’s crafting. It’s art. It’s meditation and mental wellbeing maintenance.

He held one up, explaining the layers, the shading, the hours it takes to bring a single tiny character to life. The girls watched, completely absorbed, witnessing the secret craft.

Then we went to Mod Pizza for dinner, which can only be described as the Subway of pizza, but in the best possible way. You walk the line, you build your masterpiece, you make bold choices and suffer the consequences. Thin crust. All the toppings. Into the fire. Done in minutes. It’s dangerous.

If I had one beside my house, I would eat pizza for every meal. You don’t achieve this BMI by accident.

After dinner, because Will and Rachel were celebrating their six-month anniversary, we all went out for dessert at Parachute Ice Cream. I ordered Salted Skor. It was the best ice cream I have ever had. Creamy, crunchy, salty-sweet perfection.

Pizza + family + icecream…

Thats’s a winning Monday.

Tuesday morning arrived clear and bright, the kind of winter light that makes everything feel freshly rinsed. It was ripe for adventure, so we headed to Goldstream Provincial Park to see the cathedral old-growth trees.

Driving down the Malahat, I couldn’t stop noticing the moss. It draped every branch and trunk, hanging in soft green curtains, climbing up bark and spilling downward like the forest had wrapped itself in velvet. It surprised me. I don’t remember it looking like this in summer.

Uncle Luc explained that this is a winter phenomenon. The moss thrives in the damp and cool, while in summer it recedes as the trees leaf out and the landscape shifts into a different kind of abundance. If you’ve only visited in the warmer months, you might never see this version of the Island.

And I have to say, I love the moss.

All its varieties. The way it carpets fallen logs. The way it softens rock. The way it gives birds material for nests. The way it sustains so many forms of life.

Evelyn, always imaginative, decided she was no longer a child amongst those trees — she was an eagle. She lifted her arms and began flying down the trail.

Claire, not one to miss an opportunity for airborne glory, immediately followed. Arms wide. Full grin. Looking for prey.

I called them my eaglets as they raced ahead beneath the canopy, weaving between trunks and over damp earth, exploring the hollow trunks of fallen trees, gliding over the winter stream that threaded through the park.

At one point, I found myself joining them.

And for a moment, in that green cathedral, it did feel like we were flying.

On the drive out, we passed several logging trucks hauling full loads.

And of course, Claire noticed.

After her attempted marine jailbreak at the aquarium, she was already operating at peak environmental vigilance. Seeing the logs triggered immediate indignation.

“They’re cutting down the trees?”

Evelyn, equally outraged, chimed in, “Trees help us breathe. We should never cut them down.”

I tried to explain balance. Sustainable forestry. Managed resources. Replanting. The idea that we rely on wood as a resource the same way we rely on so many natural systems.

The kids were unmoved by my explanation.

To them, the equation was simple. Trees are alive. Trees are beautiful. Trees make air. Therefore: trees stay.

I could see it in their faces — the quiet resolve forming. Claire, future liberator of sea lions and defender of forests. Evelyn, poised to advocate for oxygen on behalf of humanity.

We arrived at Esquimalt Lagoon and Ocean Boulevard, right along the edge of the Juan de Fuca Strait, with CFB Esquimalt just beyond.

One moment: moss and cathedral canopy. The next: salt breeze and mountainous horizon. The Strait stretched out wide and steel-blue, the US Olympic Mountains faint across the water, apparently quite the sight on a clear day.

Driftwood lined the beach in sculptural piles, bleached and twisted into impossible shapes. The girls climbed and balanced over them, clambering to get to the sand. Claire declared various logs to be pirate ships, sea creatures, or “very important lookout posts” for her future work in eco activism.

After the beach, our environmental tribunal declared hunger, so we made a pilgrimage for lunch at A&W, which happens to be Evelyn’s personal favourite. The Teen Burger was on sale for $4.99, which in 2026 feels like an act of national generosity.

Refueled, we headed to Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse. By this point of the afternoon, the kids were feeling tired (as in, how much longer do we have to walk).

Down to the lighthouse, Claire, however, entered the joyful phase of I refuse to walk back and demanded Uncle Luc carry her “like a backpack.” Which he did. For roughly a kilometre. Uphill. Into the wind. If you’ve ever hauled a 60-pound rucksack during a training march, you understand the situation. Except this rucksack has opinions.

Uncle Luc, to his credit, powered through longer than I would have.

Back at the fort, Claire’s energy miraculously returned. She wanted to explore every inch. Tunnels. Corners. Steps. She moved with the intensity of someone conducting a structural security assessment, testing the perimeter, which has become her new area of expertise.

Somewhere between the rain clouds moving in and the Canada Geese flying directly overhead—causing us all to duck for cover from geese bombs—we decided to get back to the car.

All we had left on the itinerary was Royal Roads and Hatley Castle.

Tuesday dinner was Uncle Luc’s homemade hamburgers and salad.

There is a very specific weight that lifts off a mom’s shoulders when dinner appears without planning, prepping, cooking, and scrubbing attached.

Sitting at the table, eating a burger I did not cook, watching my kids laugh while plates magically disappear into someone else’s sink — that’s luxury.

Five stars. Highly recommend.

Wednesday morning greeted us with decent weather — dry, bright enough, and absolutely good enough to declare: hike day.

We headed to the Cowichan Valley Trail, starting near Glen Eagles Road, to make our way toward the legendary Kinsol Train Trestle.

The trail itself is wide and gentle, built along an old rail corridor, which means gradual grades and a steady, easy rhythm underfoot. Forest on both sides, potentially cougars as well.

The rail was torn up and replaced by gravel, and the trestle itself was rebuilt and restructured to be safe for pedestrians.

The walk in had that beautiful midweek quiet. No rush. Just the sound of gravel under shoes and a gang of senior citizens that had gone out and back much earlier than us.

And then, the trees opened and the Kinsol Trestle came into view.

Now, one of the tallest free-standing timber rail trestles in the world, rising dramatically above the Koksilah River valley. All wood. All geometry. All scale. You step onto it and suddenly the world drops away beneath you. The valley stretches out wide. The river threads through far below. Mountains sit in the distance like ancient relatives watching over you.

Claire—of course— ran ahead, fearless on the wide decking, peering through the (very safe, very secure) guardrails.

Evelyn, meanwhile, took 10 steps onto the bridge and had a heart attack, which I understand. The structure is solid, restored beautifully, but your brain still whispers: this is high.

We eventually coaxed her onto the bridge, enough to cross it, by holding her hands and keeping her close.

Once again, we hit A&W for lunch, repeating our exact same orders from yesterday. Because, when something is good, why change?

Afterwards, we had committed to taking the girls to the park, but very, very unfortunately it had started to rain.

We had no choice, but to change our plans.

Slightly adjust.

And we realized… we are just beside the Unsworth Vineyards.

The rain had made the decision for us.

It was wine tasting… or nothing.

We explained the situation to the girls with great seriousness. Weather conditions. Adult morale. The importance of flexibility in life. They processed this information and, after brief deliberation, agreed to park after the tasting flight.

Very mature of them.

So off we went— to the winery!

Adults sampling delicate pours. Kids quietly colouring and playing alongside us. Rain tapping gently on vineyard windows like it had clandestinely orchestrated this entire thing.

Vacation parenting is about adaptability.

Sometimes that adaptability comes with a flight of wine, which included a taste of a $65 Pinot Noir !

After our very sophisticated vineyard pivot, we made good on our promise and headed to Farnsworth Park in Cobble Hill.

The girls ran straight for the swings and climbing structures like they’d been deprived.

We stood there watching them burn off the last of the day’s energy — hiking, wining, and now playground sprinting — until the light started to dip and the inevitable call came: five more minutes.

Back home, it was Mose Pizza, baths, and bedtime.

A full Wednesday. Forests, trestles, wine detours, burgers, and one very happy kids park finale.

Stay tuned for the final blog post: Days 8 - 10, Thursday to Saturday.

And for those who miss us—fear not! We return to Ottawa on Sunday, which has the very inviting forecast of -23 and snow.