Racing the Storm: Capturing Parksville's Herring Spawn

Weather out here is a character all its own. One day the wind batters the coast, the next it’s all rain and low cloud, erasing any hope of sighting something wild. So when I got the nudge—Parksville Beach was showing color, and the weather had cracked open just enough—I bolted, playing beat-the-clock against both a closing window and the family schedule.

Robin and I traded quick logistics and agreed: this was a classic “get what you get” moment. Parksville isn’t shy about its drama when it wants to show off. From a tucked-away trail north of the main stretch, I could see it—an unbroken line of turquoise sweeping from French Creek, cutting bold against the darkening sky.

Down on the sand, all pretense vanished. Rafts of sea lions bobbed in the mute green, birds swarmed and dove in erratic, beautiful chaos, and the air buzzed with an energy impossible to fake. The drone looped overhead, soaking up the pattern, while my lens caught eagles making lazy, precise circles above the surf. For a brief window, the world felt like it was running on herring time.

Robin arrived as the clouds began to billow, both of us laughing quietly at our luck—a wild scene, borrowed from the edge of a rain front. I squeezed in a last few shots, then packed up, shoes soaked and heart racing, knowing I’d captured something wild, if only for an hour.

By the time I got home, the rain had come back in earnest. But Parksville’s small window had delivered—a reminder that sometimes, if you want to see wildness, you need to move as fast as the weather