Quest for salmon and oysters: 15 stops

Sept. 16 to 27, 2020: We drove off the ferry and headed straight for a floating seafood restaurant in downtown Nanaimo, B.C. Vancouver Island seemed the ideal place to launch our quest for salmon and oysters.

Memories of our 2011 trip to the island fueled our longing for these two ocean delicacies. I still salivated when recalling my epic oyster burger – three panko-encrusted oysters that were so large I had to remove one so the remaining two fit the bun to allow for polite eating. And the taste? Divine.

Stop #1: In Nanaimo, Troller’s Fish & Chips’s was the first stop on our quest. Its online menu promised grilled salmon, oysters and chips, and – woo hoo! – oyster burgers! We found our way to the Waterfront Marina and down to the dock of Float F.

Then our spirits sank.

Troller’s had just closed for the season. We peered at the sign and the stacked chairs, hoping the award-winning eatery would magically re-open. It didn’t. Instead, we ate fish tacos at the nearby Penny’s Palapa Mexican restaurant, just down the floating dock. Our food and margaritas were excellent, but…

Undaunted, our quest for salmon and oysters continued. Apart from wanting to eat them, we were also curious to learn more about their natural life cycles, how they end up on our tables, and humankind’s relationship with them.

Grilled, poached, smoked, in sushi, even canned – the delicate pinky-red flesh of salmon has long been my favourite fish. Not quite so with oysters. Although I loved them smoked, I was a late convert to slurping them back raw.

My first encounter with an uncooked oyster had not been auspicious. When the waiter at a seafood restaurant discovered it was my birthday, he brought me a free shot: vodka with an oyster. I hesitantly examined the poor drowned creature and, encouraged by Bill, threw back the shot. But half a second later, the oyster clawed its way back and I spit it into the shot glass. Yuck. I just couldn’t do it.

Years later, along Australia’s southern coast, I sampled live oysters again and my epicurean world expanded like the Big Bang. Salty, buttery and slightly metallic – they tasted of the sea. An obvious truth dawned: the closer to the ocean, the better they are.

But wait. We realized our quest had really begun back on B.C.’s mainland when we’d stopped at two places near Mount Robson (which we visited on our Icefields Parkway foray).

Stop #2: At the Rearguard Falls viewing platform, we watched three-foot-long chinook salmon circling in pools before attempting the astounding leaps required to get past the falls in the Fraser River. These impressive fish had swum 1,290 kilometres from the Pacific Ocean! And I thought cycling the Portuguese Camino was a feat.

Stop #3: In Valemount, we walked along Swift Creek, which feeds the Fraser River, and saw a dozen chinook, noses pointed upstream, on their own mysterious migratory quest to spawn in the same place where they’d hatched from eggs themselves. One obliging purpley-red mama swam in place just a few feet from a viewing platform. She was likely preparing a redd (nest) to lay her eggs. Salmon spawn once and then die. After the young fry emerge in February, they hang out and grow over the next year before making their way to the Pacific Ocean. They grow bigger over the next four or five years, before feeling the urge to return to Swift Creek to complete the cycle.    

Okay, back to Vancouver Island.

From Nanaimo, we drove to Victoria to visit a friend, then south to Sooke and along the misty southwestern shore to Port Renfrew. We played a guessing game: is it fog, smog or smoke? When we were there in mid-September, smoke from American forest fires obscured the sun – and even the ocean – on many days.

Stop #4: In the small village of Port Renfrew, we discovered the Renfrew Pub right on the waterfront. We ordered rock cod and chips, and seafood chowder, from the take-out window, then wandered down the pier as we waited. We realized our quest would be hampered by Covid: many restaurants were closed or offered a limited menu for take-out and we wanted to avoid crowded restaurants anyhow. Again, the food was good, with pieces of sockeye salmon in the chowder, but it wasn’t the outstanding salmon or oysters we were searching for.

Stop #5: At Lake Cowichan, we learned from information panels at the lakeside that declining numbers of pink, chum, coho and chinook salmon return to the Cowichan River to spawn. Indigenous peoples relied on salmon for millennia before the first Europeans arrived in 1862, bringing destructive industrial practices, such as logging and mining, plus damming rivers for hydro power, and polluting the water. Some fish have neared extinction. The only bright light is that some fish species are fighting their way back with the help of more recent human endeavors such as habitat restoration and improved industrial practices.

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Stop #6: Rathtrevor Beach brought memories tumbling back for Bill. When he was about ten years old, his parents loaded him and his two brothers into the back of their station wagon (imagine the wrestling matches back there, before seatbelts) and camped their way out to Nanaimo to visit Bill’s grandma, aunt and uncle. When they visited Rathtrevor Beach, which is at least a kilometre wide at low tide, they set the boys loose to wander at will.

“My brothers and I played in the tide pools for hours,” recalled Bill. “We’d never been left alone at an ocean before, so this was a fond memory. Although, I realize now they were probably watching from shore.”

We ambled across the sand, then headed north towards the rocky section. There, we discovered thousands of oysters – some as big as our hands – clinging to the rocks, waiting for the tide to come back in. Who was the first person to look at those barnacle-encrusted things and think “Hey, that looks like dinner.”?

Stop #7: As we headed north on Hwy #19A, we saw long lines of rafts strung together in the water, parallel to the shore. We guessed they grew mussels or oysters and our guess was confirmed when we saw signs proclaiming it against the law to harvest your own oysters there. We had tasted Fanny Bay oysters in Ottawa before. Now, we learned that Fanny Bay is also a village and an oyster-farming company. Near Fanny Bay Oysters (closed to visitors, sadly), we passed piles and piles of discarded white oyster shells. In the village, we pulled in to the Fanny Bay Inn, which did not disappoint.

We ordered a dozen Fanny Bays with two sauces. Now, describing the taste of oysters is akin to winetasting – detailed and dangerously pretentious. I have trouble discerning any “underlying mango notes” in a pinot grigio or the “up-front cucumber” flavour of any briny bivalve. I just know they were creamy, meaty goodness. I loved the tart vinegary sweetness of the bright pink mignonette sauce while Bill preferred the Tijuana oysters with tequila, lime and salsa. However, he also said he didn’t care for the creaminess; he prefers a chewier oyster.

“You’re crazy! These were delicious,” I countered.

“Maybe ‘chewy’ isn’t the word,” he explained. “I mean ‘less pre-digested’.”

I’m not sure gourmands rate oysters on their level of pre-digestedness.

However, I did learn later on the Fanny Bay Oysters website that oysters are “farmed” sustainably in three ways. Juvenile oysters are spread on rocky beaches and left to grow naturally for about two years. Getting tossed around by tides twice a day develops a firmer meat. That’s how the signature Fanny Bay oysters we had tasted are grown. Other types are grown in trays suspended from rafts. They have a more delicate flavour and higher survival rate; they can be lowered into deeper water when the hot summer sun hits. Others are grown on long tubes underwater; you see lines of black floats on the surface. And some are grown first on the trays but finished on the beach.

From what I learned, “unlike farmed salmon, farmed shellfish (like oysters and mussels) is completely sustainable and [certified] OceanWise,” said an article from Eat Magazine. “Oysters are not fed, they eat the wild plankton in the sea, and farming them has little or no environmental impact.” I hope that’s true.

None of the places we visited on our quest for salmon and oysters discussed the farmed versus wild salmon controversy. While we generally buy wild salmon, I must admit I didn’t seriously research the details of the issues until afterwards. Salmon farmed in crowded pens have health issues (including sea lice and contaminants), their excrement pollutes, and they’re often fed antibiotics and hormones. Wild salmon are less apt to have diseases or contaminants, but their numbers have seriously declined due to overfishing. Some people choose to eat no salmon at all. Perhaps, if the hatcheries had been open, we would have learned more.

Stop #8: The federally run Quinsam River Salmon Hatchery, just outside Campbell River, was closed due to Covid but we parked our van with the other vehicles there. As we got out to nose around, a local man showed us where to walk along the river to see spawning salmon.

“Watch out for bears,” he advised.

Armed with bear spray, we passed the big outdoor tanks and followed the trail, stepping around bear scat and pushing through undergrowth to get to the water’s edge. What looked like long grey rocks in the water turned out to be thousands of pink salmon! Noses pointed upstream, they hung out in masses, gill to gill. Some leaped around, possibly defending their redds. Bill raised his arm to point and they moved away in a huge roiling mass. Clearly they’re sensitive to beings on shore. We stood quietly in awe, watching for some time. Dead and partly eaten salmon along the shores were evidence that bears and big birds dine on the wet buffet as well.

Run by Canada’s Fisheries and Oceans, the hatchery “supplies up to eight million pink salmon eggs to the east coast of Vancouver Island” but the website did not make clear where the eggs go. To other partners who raise and release them?

Look closely at the grey mass in the left foreground. That’s thousands of spawning salmon.

Stop #9: Campbell River calls itself the Salmon Capital of Canada, so we’d clearly come to the right place. Many information signs along the waterfront explained the five types of Pacific salmon (sockeye, coho, chinook, chum and pink) in these waters and the three types of commercial boats used to catch them: gillnetters, trollers, and purse seiners. (Remember the old Canadian $5 bill? That boat on the back was a salmon-fishing purse seiner and it’s in the Maritime Heritage Centre, also on the waterfront. It was closed due to Covid but I peeked in the window at the boat.) However, the big L-shaped fishing pier was open so we wandered out. The pier was revamped in the 1980s so locals who don’t own boats can still get out over the water to fish. A couple sat at a picnic table eating what looked to be delicious fish and chips; they recommended Dick’s, just across the road.  

Stop #10: I had never heard of salmon and chips, but we tried it at Dick’s Fish and Chips. Wonderful! And the fries were excellent too. (I didn’t realize until looking at the online menu that they also serve oyster burgers. Rats! Missed my chance.)

Stop #11: While waiting to hear if we could get onto a whale-watching adventure out of Telegraph Cove, we settled into the Killer Whale Café for seafood chowder, featuring chunks of salmon and smoked salmon. The best chowder encountered so far. We returned the next day for lunch after seeing humpbacks and dozens of the café’s namesake, who also feasted on salmon.  

Stop #12: The gate at the Quatse Salmon Stewardship Centre, just outside Port Hardy, was open. A sign said visitors were welcome to walk around the buildings and outdoor tanks and read the signs. So, we did. As we were listening to fish bump against the sides of the long white closed-top Raceway 3 tank, several staff members came out, apologized, and told us the centre was actually closed due to Covid. One woman suggested we hike along the riverside trail, to see where the hatchery releases young salmon. So, we did. We saw the big fish counter and tried to guess how it worked. But alas, no salmon.  

Leaving the far north end of Vancouver Island behind, we backtracked south to Hwy #4 which took us westward over the mountains to Tofino and Ucluelet (pronounced You-CLUE-let). On the way, we passed Port Alberni, the Salmon Fishing Capital of B.C.

Stop #13: We couldn’t remember the name of that place where I had enjoyed the epic oyster burger in 2011, but we knew what it looked like – right side of the road just before Tofino, in a complex of small food-truck-like stalls. We hooted with glee when we found it – the Wildside Grill – and prepared for an oysterfest. Unlucky #13 – they didn’t have any oysters! Bill had the cod club sandwich and I had a salmon burger instead; they were excellent, but tinged with disappointment.

Stop #14: We carried on into Tofino since we had to find a laundromat. The small town’s centre was packed with people, many not wearing masks in mid-September. We felt uncomfortable; after getting our laundry started, we made haste for the less-crowded waterfront, where we happened upon a small shop called Dockside Smoked Fish Store. Bill went in, then emerged with the most delicious version of salmon we had ever tasted: maple-smoked sweet salmon chunks. We tried to make them last, but it was challenging.

Stop #15: After the oyster burger letdown, we checked online and in tourism brochures and deduced that Ravenlady was the place to go. Sure enough, this gourmet food truck in Ucluelet put us back in the oyster game. We had a dozen Kusshi oysters, a smaller deeply cupped oyster with a salty-creamy-chewy texture. They could well have come from Fanny Bay Oysters because the company produces Kusshis as well. Bill liked their small size and chewiness better than the Fanny Bays, and certainly the Kusshis were shucked much better (no bits of shell), but my vote still went to Fanny Bay.

Our quest for salmon and oysters concluded as we headed for Nanaimo and the ferry back to B.C.’s mainland. From a taste perspective, our triumphs were the maple-smoked salmon chunks, Dick’s salmon fish and chips, and, for me, the Fanny Bay Oysters.

From an educational perspective, we learned much about life cycles, various kinds of salmon and oysters, and harvesting techniques, despite many Covid closures that prevented us from learning more. I’m still pondering the wild-versus-farmed-salmon controversies.

Many of our faithful readers know British Columbia well. Let us know in the comments below if you can answer these questions:

• How does the fish counter work?
• What exactly does the Quinsam River Salmon Hatchery do? Where do the eggs go?
• Do you eat farmed salmon? Why?
• Do you eat wild salmon? Why?