The wild Pacific Coast of Vancouver Island.
An ancient and rugged landscape
off the western shore of British Columbia.
From the icy peaks of age-old mountain glaciers...
...to the fog-shrouded canopies of Canada's only rainforest,
this is the wettest place in North America.
A primitive habitat
where the Pacific Ocean holds the key to life.
That's why this is one of the most remarkable places
on Earth.
A land locked in time,
where nature and the human spirit coexist.
It's just everything you'd want if you're an adventurous person.
A paradise for creatures
adapted to life by the sea.
And a never-before-seen view
of one of the most sacred places on Earth.
(♪♪♪)
Vancouver Island's Pacific Coast,
a lush old-growth rainforest that spans nearly 300 miles
of the western shores of British Columbia, Canada.
It's the largest island on the western coast
of the Americas.
And the wettest place in North America.
Winters here are moist and mild.
Temperatures rarely dip below 30°.
It is an unusually warm climate
in a country known for its raw and bitter winters.
Surprisingly, the small town of Tofino,
on the western shore,
receives the least snow of any town in Canada.
But what it lacks in snow, Tofino makes up for with rain.
As many as 27 feet of rain fall on Tofino each year.
The downpours are seasonal.
December alone brings more rain to the town
than some parts of British Columbia receive
in an entire year.
As a result, the region is home
to one of the world's most unusual ecosystems,
a temperate coastal rainforest.
In summer, steady heat brings little rain.
And the climate feels almost Mediterranean.
This truly is a place like no other in Canada.
Vancouver Island sits on top
of the westward-moving North American tectonic plate.
It's part of the Ring of Fire,
a string of volcanoes, deep ocean trenches,
and earthquake zones that circles the Pacific Ocean.
It's an area renowned for its violent geology
and volcanic activity.
If you look at the direction
in which all the continents are moving,
you'll see that they're encroaching
on the Pacific.
So it's probably the most dangerous part
of the planet,
because that process, and we call it "subduction",
generates enormous great earthquakes.
It generates volcanoes, it generates tidal waves.
Continental drift causes landmasses
to move dramatically over time.
Vancouver Island is a perfect example
of this phenomenon at work.
The island began its journey much farther south
than it is today.
It sits atop a large piece of crust
called "Wrangellia".
Born near the equator about 380 million years ago,
Wrangellia slowly drifted northeast along fault lines
at a rate of about 1 foot every 7 years.
As it moved and fractured,
the chunk of crust carried several different land masses
colliding into the North American plate.
These include Southeast Alaska,
the Haida Gwaii archipelago
on the North Coast of British Columbia,
and Vancouver Island.
It's like you pushing a broom across the floor
and sweeping up debris.
And so there's been a whole re-evaluation
of the geology of Western Canada,
and geologists now realize it's a mosaic.
And the pieces actually originate
from thousands of kilometers away,
and they've been added to the West Coast
of North America.
Perhaps, surprisingly, this is not the last stop
for Vancouver Island.
It continues to drift north-eastward
toward mainland Canada,
about 1 to 2 inches each year,
the same speed at which fingernails grow.
Eventually, in about 500,000 years,
the island will collide with the mainland
to create a new landmass.
Tectonic plate movement in this part of the Ring of Fire
is dangerous
and it's not necessarily millions of years
into the future.
There's something far more imminent
that's of particular concern to scientists.
A Megathrust earthquake,
known locally as "The Really Big One".
This earthquake is predicted to rival
the disastrous quake and tsunami
that devastated parts of Japan in 2011.
Vancouver Island sits along the Cascadia subduction zone
where the North America and Juan de Fuca tectonic plates
are locked in a standoff.
All the stress is building up,
and there's a lot of anticipation
and concern about when those plates unlock.
And we get what we call a mega earthquake,
a megathrust earthquake.
And it could be tomorrow, it could be next year
or maybe a thousand years' time.
But there is a history in the rocks there
of these repeated megathrust earthquakes.
At a predicted magnitude of more than 9
on the Richter scale,
an earthquake this large would trigger a massive tsunami,
nearly 400 miles wide.
Spanning from San Francisco, California,
to Juneau, Alaska,
and across the ocean to the far shores
of the western Pacific.
The earthquake would devastate large cities
including Vancouver, Victoria, Portland, and Seattle.
A quake like this is unavoidable.
The question is when will it strike?
Geological records show
that the last megathrust earthquake
hit the Pacific Coast in the year 1700.
Scientists say there is a one-in-three chance
it will happen again within the next 50 years.
Vancouver, British Columbia,
could be among the cities worst affected.
Vancouver is built largely on very soft sediment
which was brought down by the Fraser River.
So you've got this rather unstable situation
of wet sediment.
And we know from places like Japan,
when you shake that wet sediment,
it very often turns into a liquid.
Buildings literally fall down
through the softened sediment and tilt.
So the effects of the megathrust earthquake
can be actually magnified,
because most of the city is underlined
by soft, wet sediment.
For now, the same geological processes
that threaten Vancouver Island
breathe life into its ecosystems.
As fragments of plates have subducted under the island,
its interior mountain range has risen up above.
This mountain chain forms a rain shadow,
an impenetrable wall of rock that prevents moisture
moving inland from the ocean from passing over its peaks.
It's the strongest factor in the creation
of the Pacific temperate rainforest.
By trapping precipitation on the west side of the island,
the mountains cause huge amounts of fog and rainfall
along the island's Pacific Coast,
creating a lush rainforest unlike any other.
On the edge of this unlikely northern jungle
is Meares Island,
an ancient-growth forest that's been held sacred
for more than a thousand years.
(Birds chirping)
Meares Island is home to some of the largest
and oldest trees on Earth,
1,500-year-old cedars
tended by local Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations.
It is a harmonious relationship between humans and nature
that has stood the test of time.
We have an inter-generational responsibility
that is passed on, you know, to be taking care
not only of the land, but the ocean, the rivers,
and all the living things that are in this area.
(Birds chirping in distance)
Meares Island is Canada's first official Tribal Park.
Faced by the threat of logging in the 1980s,
local people fought to protect their sacred land
from deforestation.
After intense negotiations with the Canadian government,
they were successful.
And Meares Island was declared a Tribal Park in 1984.
Now under the watchful eye of Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations,
the island is used as a nature park,
where visitors can sit among some of the oldest trees
on the planet.
(Birds chirping in distance)
Here on Meares Island's Big Tree Trail
stands one of the largest and oldest living organisms
on Earth...
(Birds chirping in distance)
...the Hanging Garden Tree.
A western red cedar 60 feet wide,
it's more than 2,000 years old.
And was likely just a sapling at the dawn of Christianity.
Some of these ancient red cedars can reach heights
of more than 170 feet.
There are only a few of these majestic giants left
on Vancouver Island.
Years of deforestation and development destroyed
much of the island's old growth.
But the time-worn cedars that do remain
are able to grow to staggering proportions
due to the torrents of precipitation that fall
each year.
Heavy rainfall in the winter and extreme fog in the summer
create a constant dampness that prevents forest fires
from igniting and burning down these ancient woods.
But it isn't just a warm, sodden climate
that keeps this forest flourishing.
It's protected by another guardian.
One so small, it's easily overlooked,
buried beneath the feet of visitors.
Yet so large,
it connects the trees of the forest,
forming one of the most immense organisms on Earth,
fungus.
Fungus is the lifeblood of this rainforest ecosystem.
It feeds nutrients to trees and animals
through a living network
that exists just below the mossy forest floor.
You're on a living mat
that connects one tree species to another tree species.
Each tree is connected to others by fungal roots called mycelium.
These strands of living tissue carry nitrogen and phosphorous,
nutrients that help plants grow.
The connections are so strong
that cutting down a tree in one end of the forest
can impact a tree on the opposite end.
This fungal network has been called
"Earth's natural internet"
and can serve as a warning system
for impending disease.
Trees pick up on chemical signals of distress
from their neighbors that travel through the network.
All of these creatures, these tree creatures,
these Ents, as in Lord of the Rings ,
truly are connected by a real physical
and biological connection.
Like the constant moisture of the rainforest,
this fungal network is key to the survival of old growth.
It provides 1,000-year-old trees with the nutrients they need
to keep growing.
Although science does not yet fully understand
the complexity of these networks,
it's clear that this unique habitat
could not exist without them.
When you go out into the forest,
you're walking on life.
Life connecting with other creatures.
It's not some spiritual thing, it's a real thing.
Yet behind it is this spirit of life,
the spirit of evolution,
that's why this is one of the most remarkable places
on Earth.
This remarkable place is also home
to a diversity of wildlife, nourished by the lush forests
and nutrient-rich inter-tidal zones.
Here, a black bear goes in search of breakfast.
Hungry predators like him take advantage of low tides
that expose small prey in the early morning
and turn shorelines into a buffet of mollusks
and crustaceans.
It's 8:00 a.m., low tide and the best time to find food.
But it's a race against the clock,
every minute counts.
In just a few hours, the high tide will wash back in,
hiding prey under more than 9 feet of water.
But for now,
clams, oysters, and crabs are ripe for the picking.
The black bear is the smallest bear
of the three species in North America.
But this is no average black bear.
This is a Vancouver Island black bear,
an endemic subspecies of the common black bear.
Here, the bears run larger than their mainland cousins.
Females weigh an average of 400 pounds,
while males can tip the scales at more than 600 pounds,
the weight of a large touring motorcycle.
Green shore crabs scuttle off,
wary of the bears that feed on this bank.
They're common on the shores of Vancouver Island
and make a tasty snack.
The breakfast buffet of the inter-tidal zone
feeds more than the local bear population.
(Seagulls screeching)
Crows and gulls also take advantage
of the exposed shoreline, pecking for small prey
and scavenging the remains left by larger animals.
These opportunistic hunters find plenty of food
on the nutrient-rich beaches.
Larger birds make this coastline home
as well.
A bald eagle rests in a cedar tree,
its keen eyes able to spot small prey 100 feet below.
Eagles find easy meals on these shores during low-tide.
Today, the shores begin to clear out around noon.
The feast dies down as the high tides creep back in.
But another kind of frenzy is just getting started.
(♪♪♪)
Powerful waves crash along the shores,
creating ideal conditions for the best surfing in Canada.
With more than 20 miles of surf-able beach break,
Tofino is known worldwide
as a top spot to catch a wave.
Surfers flock here year-round.
I really like surfing early in the morning,
before the wind picks up and before people wake up.
You can, you know, find waves where it'll just be you
and your friends surfing for 3 or 4 days
if you make the effort to maybe go on a plane ride
or a boat ride or really hike down
in through some forests.
Or if you just wanna be lazy and surf,
the beaches are right on your doorstep.
Uh, there's probably about five or six beaches
that you can surf here.
Water temperatures remain cool but consistent at about 50°.
Surfing here is a year-round sport.
The largest waves come in winter,
when the surf rises with powerful swells.
But each surfer's ideal wave is different.
My favorite time of year to surf is the fall.
When the water is still kind of warm
from the summer,
but the waves start to get bigger,
and we start to get some bigger swells coming in.
Chesterman Beach, with its dramatic V-shape,
is a surfer's playground.
Dissected at its point by Frank Island,
the beach is split perfectly in two.
South Chesterman packs a punch
with southern swells and northwest winds.
North Chesterman provides the opposite experience,
with climbing north-west swells and south-easterly winds.
Surfers don wetsuits to ward off chilly water temperatures.
And there are other hazards for surfers in Tofino.
In addition to bears on the beach,
there are orcas in these waters.
Surfers have been forced out of the sea
by circling pods of killer whales,
though there's never been an attack.
For nature lovers and adventure seekers,
there is more to Tofino than rolling waves.
If I'm not surfing, I'm hiking and not just hiking the beaches.
Like within an hour's drive from here,
you can hike up a beautiful mountain
like up a waterfall and swim in a lake,
you know, up the top.
It's just everything you'd want
if you're an adventurous, fun-loving person.
But other places along the same stretch of shoreline
are not so hospitable.
The Pacific coastal region between Northern Oregon
and the top of Vancouver Island
is one of North America's most treacherous coastlines.
Unpredictable weather, jagged shores, and intense fog
have sunk thousands of ships,
earning this stretch of coastline the nickname,
"The Graveyard of the Pacific".
The historic Amphitrite Lighthouse
has helped sailors navigate
the island's treacherous coastlines
for more than 100 years.
The lighthouse was built in 1906
after the tragic sinking of the Pass of Melfort
in the winter of 1905.
The four-masted, steel-hulled ship
was on its way to Seattle on a routine timber run
until seasonal storms whipped up deadly waves,
leaving the vessel in ruin just 160 feet
off the shore of Amphitrite Point.
The tragedy left 36 people dead.
Since then, the lighthouse has guided sailors to safety
through thick fog along rocky coasts.
(Waves splashing in distance)
The most ancient layers of Vancouver Island
are comprised of marine volcanic rock
formed by undersea lava deposits
more than 300 million years ago.
Over millennia, the calcium shells
of countless marine animals added to the rock
to create limestone.
These ancient rocks formed long colonnades
that jut out into the Pacific Ocean,
posing hazards for passing ships.
But even more dangerous than the jagged rock
is the unrelenting fog.
August on the west coast of Vancouver Island
is nicknamed "Fogust".
Two types of fog cloak the west coast,
radiation and advection.
Radiation fog is common during late summer
and is created when surface temperatures
cool rapidly at night.
Ground water evaporates into warmer air,
condensing as a thin layer of surface cloud
close to ground.
Daytime rising temperatures typically burn off radiation fog
by mid-afternoon.
But advection fog can last for several days
when warm, moist air blows across cooler land
or water.
The fog is an essential part
of the Pacific Coast's rainforest ecosystem.
During the dry summer,
it supplies the forests with much-needed moisture.
Fog drip accounts for more than 35%
of the rainforest's annual precipitation.
Without this thick haze,
Canada's only rainforest could not survive.
Life on this remarkable island
depends on the delicate balance of its ecosystems.
Like waves of the Pacific shore,
life here ebbs and flows in a natural rhythm.
To the keen observer,
this lush paradise
can provide everything needed for survival.
A really big compliment that you can get in our culture
is that you have been very observant.
So there was a lot of time that people just spent in nature
observing various things.
What the birds are saying, what the tide is doing,
do you hear a rumble along the ocean
that'll help you know what's going on out there
in terms of swell.
What the clouds are doing,
which mountain tops they're sitting on top off.
All these things,
and you can learn so much just from that observance.
For generations, First Nations have lived off the land,
looking to nature to supply shelter and food.
In the past, we managed these root vegetable gardens
that were our main starches
and those were very carefully gardened
and managed by specific families within the tribe.
Some First Nations communities still rely on the shores
of the island for food.
Living off the land demands an expert level
of observance.
Foragers need to be aware of the balance
of supply and demand.
Through the ages, the lives of First Nations
were intertwined with the natural world.
Aboriginal people considered the growth
and reproduction cycles of plants and animals
before harvesting
to sustain the food supply for generations to come.
It's important to learn about whatever that resource is,
not just as a human use thing, but its own lifecycle
and just how,
under what circumstances does it thrive, or not?
And if you do have access to indigenous knowledge
and people that are willing to share, to respectfully ask,
that's a good start.
From up high,
the lush rainforests of Vancouver Island
burst with life.
Dense greenery is a vivid sign of a healthy forest.
These aerial views also provide clues
about the health of a different species,
salmon.
The carcasses of salmon
dragged from spawning streams hundreds of feet inland
provide a rich source of nitrogen to nearby forests.
Studies show the trees here obtain up to 50%
of their nitrogen from the decaying fish.
Forests made healthy by dead salmon
attract more birds and insects,
increasing the overall well-being
of the ecosystem.
As a result, lush forests like this
usually indicate a healthy salmon run.
(Water splashing)
There are four kinds of salmon on Vancouver Island.
Chinook salmon is the largest.
It can live for up to 9 years
and reach weights of more than 130 pounds,
making it the largest salmon species on Earth.
These muscular fish spawn in the majority
of Vancouver Island's streams and rivers.
Every fall, salmon return to the place they were born
to lay their eggs and restart the cycle of life.
It's an epic journey
that can cover thousands of miles
from the wide-open Pacific Ocean to natal streams
that can reach far inland.
Guided by the Earth's magnetic fields
and their own sense of smell,
salmon find the river of their birth,
then brave waterfalls and rapids
to make it to their spawning grounds far upstream.
Once they arrive at their destination,
females can lay between 2,000 to 5,000 eggs
before they become senescent, meaning they've spawned out.
The high number of eggs is vital to the survival
of the species.
The ova are vulnerable to predators, pollution,
flooding, and disease
Less than 10% will make it to adulthood
and just 2% will survive the incredible journey
back to their birthplace to spawn
and continue the cycle of life.
South of Tofino is the crown jewel
of Vancouver Island's west coast.
Pacific Rim National Park,
home to rainforests filled with ancient cedars
and diverse wildlife.
It's also home to one of the island's
unexpected and rarest ecosystems,
sand dunes.
In Western Canada, sand dunes and sandy beaches
comprise less than 10% of our shoreline.
That makes them rare, but what makes them special
is that these are selected spots for a whole host
of different species that only exist
in sandy substrate.
Dunes are created in equal parts by wind and water.
Over time, wind pushes waves and sand ashore,
piling grains of sand into wind deposits.
These dunes are the largest in British Columbia
and are an important transitional zone
between beach and forest.
These are very rare, very selected habitats
for a whole host of different species
and communities that only exist in select spots
like here in Tofino, Ucluelet.
Migratory birds, bears,
and a variety of plants and insects
call the dunes home.
But an intruder has put the dunes at risk.
Dune systems of this size are really rare.
What we see in most coastal dune systems
in the northern hemisphere is that
they are slowly shrinking or stabilizing
by vegetation moving in on their margins.
We see that on the fore-dune here,
in response to an introduced or invasive species,
that's known as an American or European beach-grass.
Beach-grass was originally brought
to Vancouver Island
to stabilize coastal areas at risk of erosion.
But over time, this invasive species
began to block the natural transfer of sand
between dunes.
Without a natural flow of sand, dunes can shrink over time
endangering the plants, insects and animals
that make their home in the sand.
To help fight invasive European beach-grass,
the park introduced a restoration program.
Local community members remove the beach grass by hand,
replacing it with the endangered plants.
These kids here are pulling invasive dune grass
for the dune restoration project.
It's a very important ecosystem here
and these kids are helping to restore it.
The goal is to restore the way wind naturally blows
the sediment and shifts the dunes.
By freeing up sand to move with the wind,
researchers hope to maintain the natural microhabitats
of the dunes.
All of these plants that you see around here,
they're disturbance-loving plants.
They need that disturbance, that abrasion by sand,
that burial, that erosion to grow and live.
An invasive species like the beach-grass
will move in, choke out, and stabilize
or cover the surface.
The species that we're really focused on
and for this dune restoration project
are three species that are considered endangered
in Canada
and one of those is pink sand verbena.
By replacing the invasive beach-grass
with pink sand verbena,
researchers will restore the natural rhythm of the dunes.
We've removed those grasses,
we've returned these environments
to a more natural regime,
and we have seen the increase
in a lot of those rare species
that we were trying to enhance.
We're making great strides in giving them a home.
On Vancouver Island,
another ecosystem straddles the line
between Earth and water.
But this place is not by the ocean.
It's thousands of feet above sea level.
A hidden paradise at the top of a mountain.
These towering peaks split Vancouver Island
into east and west.
Their steep slopes retain moisture
along the Pacific Coast
and help create lush rainforests.
But historically, these thirsty forests
were quenched by another source, glaciers.
In the 1970s,
Vancouver Island was home to more than 170 glaciers.
Ice capped the peaks of many mountains on the island.
In the heat of the summer,
these slow-moving ribbons of ice melt
and saturate the dry forests below.
In the spring, melted glaciers become rushing waterfalls.
In the Nahmint Valley,
in the centre of Vancouver Island,
spring waterfalls flow freely.
Locals refer to this area as "Waterfall Heaven".
Here, glacial runoff creates towering waterfalls.
One of the tallest, Virgin Falls,
cascades more than 170 feet.
Rising global temperatures have reduced
the number of glaciers on Vancouver Island
to just five.
Fewer glaciers means less water to feed
the hundreds of waterfalls
that flow down from the mountains.
Some scientists predict
that all of Vancouver Island's glaciers
could be gone within 25 years.
(♪♪♪)
In some cases, melted glaciers feed mountain lakes.
Water from these lakes feeds the surrounding forest
to create a vibrant ecosystem
hundreds of feet above sea level.
But as the climate continues to warm,
these high alpine regions are shrinking.
Within the next century, they may disappear completely.
These secluded mountain tops of Vancouver Island
provide a haven for fragile ecosystems.
Tucked away among the mountains is Henderson Lake.
This secluded body of water
sits on Uchucklesaht First Nations land,
a region that holds special meaning
to Pacific First Nations.
For thousands of years,
Henderson Lake teemed with salmon.
Salmon runs here were among the most spectacular
in the world.
There was enough fish to feed entire communities.
But disease brought by European settlers
took its toll on tradition.
We've been here for thousands of years
and at one time
we were approximately 8,000 warriors strong
a few hundred years ago.
And through the epidemics
and smallpox
and those kind of events,
we were basically diminished
to very small numbers,
less than a hundred.
And now we are growing,
we are closed to 300 members at this point.
Encircling Henderson Lake are the five sacred mountains
that have guarded the spiritual secrets
of Pacific First Nations for millennia.
This is the Thunderbird's Nest,
home of the mythical thunderbird.
A supernatural creature able to bring rain and lightning
to Vancouver Island's coastal rainforest.
There's just a handful, you can count on one hand,
of areas that you would call the Thunderbird's Nest.
And in our language it's called the "T'iitsk'in Pawaats".
Every nation has stories about having thunderbirds,
but not Thunderbird Nest.
According to ancient mythology,
the land was home to a family of thunderbirds.
Five birds inhabited the tops of each
of the five sacred mountains within the T'iitsk'in Paawats.
Over time, the mythical birds began to leave the nest.
Some were traded away to neighboring tribes
during times of wedding and war,
creating sacred bonds that tied communities together.
The Thunderbird's Nest holds precious significance
to Pacific First Nations
and has never before been filmed.
The land remained a well-guarded secret
until loggers attempted to clear-cut the area
and members of the Uchucklesaht Tribe
took action to save it.
Not very many outside people knew about the story
of the Thunderbird's Nest and our secret ceremonies
and the activities we carry out in the nest.
It came to light in the '90s.
We were shocked and astonished to learn that
the forestry company was logging out
in the upper part of the province.
So we immediately went and met with the forest companies
and asked them to cease.
And after much meeting, and discussions
and educating them of our interest in the area,
of the spiritualness and the sacredness of it,
they agreed to stop harvesting.
Logging this area would have been disastrous
to the spiritual ancestry
of more than 14 Pacific First Nation tribes.
My mother, at that time, she was about 75 years old.
And she said if they're not willing
to protect the area
or they're not prepared to stop logging--
When they were logging,
she was gonna make her way up there
and park herself in the middle of the road
so nobody can haul any wood out of there.
So that's how determined our people were
to ensure that logging would not happen
in that spiritual area.
First Nations Tribal Councils
now govern the area
protecting more than 5,000 acres from the logging industry
for future generations.
Because of its special ties to the thunderbird,
this land has been used by the Uchucklesaht people
for sacred rituals
since long before the appearance of Europeans.
Each piece of the nest holds a specific sacred purpose.
The lowest mountain has a number of sacred ponds
and waterfalls
that are traditionally used to cleanse a member of the tribe
before a difficult journey.
It's a place where our people
went for ceremonies and celebrations
and the ceremonies ranging
from 1 day or 1/2 a day
to maybe a week to a month or 8 months
depending on what you were there
to prepare yourself for.
One of the most intense spiritual practices
in the Thunderbird's Nest occurred prior to a whale hunt.
Tribe members would camp alone among the mountains
for up to 8 months,
cleansing the body and mind in preparation for a hunt,
that, if successful, could feed an entire family
throughout the winter.
People often have big reactions to the idea of whale hunting
and like very kind of gut level.
But I think there is a lack of understanding.
There's intensive spiritual and physical preparation
that takes place before going on a whale hunt.
And there's so much respect for these big animals
and one of the incredible things is that one of these animals
can feed so many people and in former times,
the oil, the blubber of them was,
you know, that was so precious.
Because there wasn't other forms of oil around here.
Smaller events took place within the nest as well.
Weddings commonly occurred on its shores.
Coming-of-age ceremonies played out in its woods.
Community members walked these grounds
while mourning the loss of a loved one
or while preparing to give birth to a new member of the tribe.
These lands were a place to prepare the body and mind
for many of life's journeys.
Each family had their own bathing site
or place of worship within the Thunderbird's Nest.
A place so secret that an intruder could be killed
for entering the space without invitation.
Some of our people still practice these ceremonies
and activities to this day.
I still come up at least once a year
to do "osimich" which is go into the water and bathe.
And it's really good for relieving your mind of stress
and planning for the rest of your week
or your month or your year.
I usually come in the winter months
and go into the lake.
And I sit in the lake for up to an hour
and it's really relaxing,
you don't feel the cold of the lake,
the air is colder than the water is
in the winter months.
These spiritual practices,
so linked with the natural surroundings,
are representative of the island as a whole.
This is a place where humans and nature
have been inextricably linked for millennia.
We call it "God's country", this whole area.
It's just a place you come to and you never forget
and you don't wanna leave.
It's such a powerful place to be.
When you're in there, you feel the,
you know, the presence of nature,
the presence of the Creator.
From the dense canopies of ancient rainforests
to the fungal roots that connect sleeping giants,
from the bears and salmon that call this place home
to the many different people who live off the land,
this magnificent landscape is a rugged reminder
of a world that thrived long ago.
From its volcanic beginnings
to its powerful ocean shores.
From lush rainforests
to magnificent islands in the sky.
It is an age-old landscape
that continues to preserve ancient ways of life.
(♪♪♪)