Back to Addenbroke Island: A Memoir of Loss and Return

1
Here we go!


A quick kiss on the lips of my wife Dagmar and a quick hug before I took my seat in the passenger side of my sister-in-law’s car. “Have fun and take care!” she called after me before I closed the car door. The drive to Wilhelmshöhe station seemed to take forever; I was too excited to think about anything other than our “boys’ trip,” as I always called it.
As soon as we turned into the station grounds, I spotted Gudrun’s car in front of us. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop when I slammed my hand on her car with full force. “Hey, old man!” I called to Harald as he climbed out of the car. I hugged him and whispered softly in his ear, “Here we go!”
I quickly ran back to the car and grabbed my aluminum suitcase from the trunk. This piece of luggage had been sitting packed and ready at my home in Möllersdorf for 14 days.
The suitcase had more to offer than a first glance would have suggested. I made a few modifications so that I could transport the caught and frozen salmon home without worrying about it thawing.
I grabbed my camera bag, said goodbye to my sister-in-law, and went to Harald and Gudrun.
They were holding each other tightly, like two teenagers who were about to be separated for the first time. Gudrun kissed her beloved husband and waved to us both as we disappeared into the station building.
When we reached the platform, I noticed Harald’s teary eyes. This farewell affected him more than I could ever have imagined. It was the first time the two had been apart. Except for Gudrun’s spa stays, they had spent the last decades happily together. The train ride to Frankfurt flew by. We were deep in conversation and imagining our upcoming vacation in Canada.
When we arrived at the airport, we walked down the long corridor to the terminal, where we checked in our suitcases and queued up at the security check.
To pass the time until departure and satisfy our hunger, we visited a Chinese restaurant. We both opted for noodles with roast duck.
The long wait finally came to an end and we boarded the Condor Airbus that took us to Vancouver. The 10-hour flight felt like it lasted only minutes, as we had so much to talk about. Too much had built up in the weeks before and now had to come out, like sparkling wine that had been left in the bottle for far too long.
When we arrived at the airport in Vancouver, we literally ran through immigration, which in Canada was nothing like it was in the USA.
During my many trips to the US, I have almost never been greeted with a smile at the immigration counter. It was always sobering to face the sullen-looking people after an eight-hour flight and a very long wait and answer the same question about the reason for my entry. Of course, you also have to give your fingerprints and have your photo taken in Canada, but you could do that yourself on a computer and you only had to show your passport to a friendly official. Back in 2011, when we arrived in Toronto, I was surprised by this type of entry into Canada.
After spotting our luggage on the baggage carousel, we set off in search of the shuttle that would take us to the hotel. For the first time, I felt the effects of the 9-hour time difference and the long flight. After all, it was already 1:00 a.m. German time when we landed. At the hotel, Harald was struggling with his cell phone. He was close to despair because he couldn’t connect to the Wi-Fi and he really wanted to text Gudrun to let her know we had arrived safely.
Honestly, I will never forget the sight of this giant of a man sitting on the bed in his white underpants, looking at me desperately and literally begging me: Martin, can you please help me? A few seconds later, everything was fine. He was happy that he could get in touch, and I was happy that I had been able to help him. Up to that point, he had asked me at least four times whether his mobile data had really been turned off. Gudrun must have pointed this out to him several times, and he was only reassured when I was able to show him on his cell phone that it really was turned off. I remember that we wandered around in the evening, looking for something to eat and drink. We found an authentic Chinese restaurant where we were the only non-Asian people, which made our choice of food quite amusing, but that wasn’t a bad thing, as we both found it interesting to eat something that wasn’t part of our everyday diet. When we got back to the hotel, I sent Dagmar a quick WhatsApp message to let her know we had arrived safely. Harald watched some American football while I fell into bed exhausted and fell asleep.
The next morning, Harald and I got up early. Well, actually, we were already awake at 4:00 a.m., but that was probably due to jet lag. We passed the time talking and watching Canadian commercials on TV.
My companion loved the Canadian fast food chain “Tim Hortons,” so we went straight from the hotel to the nearest branch for breakfast.
I had booked a rental car in advance so we could drive to Steveston together. This small fishing village is located in the far south, almost on the border with the United States. Harald and I wanted to go to a fishing shop I had found beforehand to get some special bait so we would be well equipped for our upcoming trip. We were like two little kids in a candy store, already imagining ourselves pulling the biggest salmon out of Hakai Pass with our super lures.
Afterwards, Harald and I drove back to Richmond, where I found a special dumpling restaurant where we had a fantastic lunch.
We strolled through numerous Chinese grocery stores. We both enjoyed seeing foods from other cultures and imagining what we could cook with them. If you could ignore the smell of dried shrimp, it was a really cool experience. In the evening, Harald and I found a great little restaurant that served only ramen noodles. I think we were both equally excited as we walked back to the hotel, because the next day our “boys’ trip” was finally going to begin. The trip we had been looking forward to for over two years with such indescribable anticipation. Harald went straight to our room, while I found a quiet spot on the hotel’s “smoking terrace” to call Dagmar. It was nice to hear her voice and find out that she was also having a great time at the North Sea. She had gone on a beach vacation to Sankt Peter-Ording with our two children. She had always wanted to spend her summer vacation on the North Sea, and I had always resisted the idea, so I was very happy that we had found a win-win situation for our summer vacation this year: she got the North Sea and I got salmon fishing in Canada.




2
The day that changed everything


Our night didn’t last long. At 4:50 a.m., I could already hear Harald tossing and turning in his bed. He was at least as excited as I was, and we were too worried about oversleeping. And that was despite the fact that we had set two alarms on our cell phones and one in the hotel room to be on the safe side. After a quick continental breakfast at the hotel, we hurriedly packed our things and took the hotel shuttle to Vancouver International Airport. We arrived at the airline terminal almost an hour earlier than necessary. After the obligatory weighing of our bags, we received our boarding pass – well, more like a colored piece of paper with a number indicating our scheduled flight. With that, we went outside and waited for the other passengers who, like us, had the same destination that day: Ole’s Fishing Lodge at Hakai Pass.
We had been looking forward to this trip for so long. All the weeks before our departure for Canada passed in slow motion for me, and now, now we were standing there at this little hut, waiting for it to finally begin.
Because we were so early, we were booked on the first plane leaving the seaplane airport for Ole’s that morning. So arriving early had its advantages.
I can still see this image in my mind’s eye: Harald leaning his elbows on the railing, a smile on his lips, his gaze fixed on the planes below. His eyes reflect a childlike anticipation of the adventure ahead.
More and more people arrived at the small terminal on various hotel shuttles. Some were familiar faces from the first trip three years earlier, mixed with new strangers. Since most of the guests were US citizens, it was easy to strike up a conversation with them. The two of us Germans were the “exotics” there, so Harald and I quickly found someone to chat with.
I recognized Doug and Russell and talked to them a little, as they were the only ones who recognized us. Russell even spoke to Harald because he had sent him some treats to the US after our first trip.
There was great anticipation in the air about the upcoming adventure. A joy that was abruptly dampened when the airline boss came out and told us all that the departure would be delayed.
Disappointment spread across everyone’s faces; this delay, so close to our destination, was not what we had hoped for. I thought to myself that if we had known earlier, I could have enjoyed a second pancake for breakfast and we wouldn’t have had to rush so much.
I opened my cell phone and sent Dagmar a message saying that our flight would be delayed and that we would therefore be taking off later than planned. The mocking reply I received was that maybe I should have gone to the North Sea after all, because at that moment in Sankt Peter-Ording the sun was shining brightly and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as the children played by the water.
Harald was texting Gudrun on his cell phone, so I seized the opportunity to chat with Doug and his father Steve. For both of them, it was going to be their 26th trip to Ole’s. They were both gifted fishermen, and each of us secretly hoped to coax one of their secret fishing spots out of them.
A long 90 minutes later, we got the news that we would be leaving soon. Although we were booked on the first flight, other passengers were getting ready for their flight. A change in the order of departing aircraft was apparently not unusual, so we had to wait patiently as the passengers for the first flight got ready and walked down a small ramp. It led down to the dock, where the planes stood in rows next to each other.
Another half hour passed before our pilot, a tall, burly man with a bald head and a neatly ironed white shirt, picked us up and accompanied us to a small covered hut on the dock. This hut was basically our departure gate; it was locked with a door and secured with an electronic lock. Once we got there, I asked the pilot if it would be possible to sit in the co-pilot’s seat during the flight, but that seat was already taken. Erik, Greg’s son, was allowed to sit next to the pilot because it was Erik’s first trip to Ole’s. Apparently, it was a kind of unwritten law that the passenger who was making this trip for the first time also had the honor of sitting next to the pilot, if he wanted to.
A display board explained how to put on the life jackets in the event of an emergency landing and where to find the first aid kit on the plane. I remember one of the other passengers – I don’t remember who it was – asking rather humorously which cord on the life jacket you had to pull first. But as funny as this question seemed at first, it was not unfounded, because the life jacket had two, and we were told that the rear one should be pulled first to provide more stability in the head area.
How often had I smiled and ignored the flight attendants’ safety instructions on all my previous flights, hoping that it would soon be over? Isn’t it a little ridiculous when a flight attendant shows you how to open and close your seatbelt? Of course, that wasn’t the case here in this small covered hut, but even on this day, I only paid limited attention to the explanations, as I was too excited about the upcoming flight and the great adventure that was finally about to begin. Interestingly, however, I did remember where the first aid kit was stowed on the plane.
Since my seat was at the very back of the plane on the right side, I was able to take my time and was the last to walk along the long wooden walkway toward the plane.

I watched eagerly as everyone boarded the plane through the open door. Harald took a seat at the front next to Doug, which made me a little sad because I would have loved to chat with him during the flight and enjoy the flight time with him. But now I had the great privilege of sitting alone in the back on a two-seater bench. I sat down, placed my camera and GoPro next to me, and fastened my three-point seatbelt.
Once we were all seated and buckled up in the plane, we were shown once again where the life jackets were stowed, where we would find the first aid kit, and how to open the door from the inside in case of an evacuation.
The side door of the aircraft was closed and I saw the pilot walk forward, open the cockpit door and take his seat. It took a little while before we could hear the engine start up and the 675 hp Pratt & Whitney turboprop turbine reach its speed. An employee outside the aircraft untied the rope that was still holding us to the wooden jetty and pushed us away from it. I looked at my cell phone; it was 9:32 a.m. when we took off toward Ole’s.
The plane turned slightly toward the middle of the river after we left the dock and headed upstream. After a short distance, we turned on the water, the engine roared, and we slowly accelerated downstream on the rough river.
What had felt rough and bumpy just a moment ago suddenly turned into a gentle glide. The takeoff phase in a seaplane is something very special: during the first few meters of acceleration, the nose tilts upward, then descends at increasing speed before finally rising into the air. These takeoffs are not comparable to a normal takeoff in a large passenger plane.
The plane rose out of the water and we ascended into the sky. It was already wonderful to be able to look out of the window and see Vancouver International Airport on the right, followed immediately by the city center of this gigantic Canadian metropolis. It didn’t take long for us to reach our cruising altitude and enjoy the view from up there. As on our first flight in 2016, nature showed itself to us in its most beautiful form, a feast for the eyes.

To the right, we could see snow-capped mountains and glaciers, and to the left, we could see Vancouver Island. Hundreds of smaller islands rose out of the blue of the huge bay, and countless ships sailed around on the water. I could see other seaplanes, some flying below us and one coming in to land. We flew over fish farms where thousands of fish were being raised in nets, and we could see felled logs floating in the water, ready to be transported away in large raft-like formations.
I had an app on my phone that allowed me to track our flight path. I had entered the coordinates in advance and could therefore estimate how long the flight would take. I also had the huge advantage of sitting alone on a two-seater bench, which meant I could always slide back from the window to the middle.
It was interesting to see how differently all the passengers experienced the flight. While Steve fell asleep immediately after takeoff, Mike listened to music, and the rest of the passengers, like me, looked out the windows with excitement.
I had taken my camera with me to my seat, so I was able to take pictures whenever I wanted. I took snapshots of the beautiful area surrounding us and also of the interior of the plane. I kept looking through the viewfinder of the camera, hoping so much that Harald would turn to me for just a second so I could capture his smile. That smile, which was clearly his motto in life for everyone to see. Instead, all I ever got was his almost bald head in front of my lens, and yet it was that photo I took of him that would be his last.

On my app, I could see that we were east of Port Hardy, the northernmost fishing village on Vancouver Island, when the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. It started to rain lightly, the wind picked up, and it grew darker inside the plane. I picked up my phone again and saw on the app that it was only a few kilometers to Ole’s.
...