Will the Real Sean Connery
Please Stand Upby
Mary A. Green
Was the man I met at The Barn that Saturday night really Sean Connery? Sean Connery, flamboyant star of early James Bond movies and more recently the mature, sophisticated leading man of exciting adventure films? I will never be certain. But there is good reason to believe he might have been.
It happened at Strathcona Park Lodge, a resort located on Vancouver Island just forty-eight kilometres west of Campbell River. Since my daughter lives in the area and I was planning to visit her anyway, I decided to extend my trip by six days and take in an Elderhostel program at the lodge.
The complex of buildings that make up Strathcona Park Lodge begins on the beach of Upper Campbell Lake and then proceeds — as things in B.C. often do — up a mountain. At the lowest level are structures that house canoes and kayaks. Further up, amidst lush rainforest greenery, stand cottages, the administration building and dining hall. Then, across a busy highway and straight up a steep incline is the building that looks like a small-town community hall. This is the Conference Centre, more commonly called "The Barn".
Although the lodge offers all the amenities one would expect to find at a resort facility, it is actually an outdoor education centre. People of all ages from anywhere in the world can be found here dressed in rustic garb, ready to do battle with thick underbrush on a backwoods hike, to climb one of the mountains on the far side of the lake, or to steer a kayak through turbulent waters.
I came to the lodge for the "Homespun Music and Crafts" program listed in the Elderhostel catalogue. The folk dancing, folk crafts and folk singing all sounded as if they might be interesting. When I discovered that an annual folk festival would be part of the program, I sent off my registration form.
As soon as I arrived, Jane our group director handed me a walking stick. "You'll be needing this," she advised. "It's all either uphill or down at this place." Many was the time that that stick came in handy. There's nothing wrong with my legs, but being from the prairies and accustomed to walking on a level plane, I found myself out of condition for hills. I managed the gentle slopes of the lower grounds quite well, but when I saw the steep incline leading to The Barn, I stopped. "I'll never get up there," I said.
"You'll have to," Jane insisted. "That's where we're having our folk dancing classes tomorrow."
I paired off with Beatrice. She'd recently had both her hips replaced and she said she'd try getting up the hill be walking backwards and stopping for rests. We made a good pair and managed to make it all the way up every time.
We were kept busy all week making paper angels, fashioning wreaths out of local foliage, learning dances, and gathering for afternoon folk song sessions. At our Friday "hootenanny" something special happened: professional musicians from Quadra, Cortes and other Gulf Islands arrived at the lodge for the folk festival. One by one they wandered in and joined us to play their instruments and sing.
Saturday proved to be a hectic day. I went up to The Barn for a Zydeco workshop after breakfast, then came down for lunch. Up to The Barn again for the afternoon concert. Down to the dining hall for supper. A short rest, and then Beatrice and I were heading for The Barn again. This time we nearly made it all the way up before we had to pause to catch our breath.
The place was packed. "Good crowd here for the evening concert," I observed. Someone behind me said that the people from Campbell River always showed up for this event. The concert was terrific and over too soon. There was to be a dance, and some of our group wanted to stay awhile to hear the Celtic band now assembling on stage to provide the music. I needed a cup of tea if I were to stay awake until they were ready to go.
When I returned from the concession booth — a hot cup in one hand and a serviette in the other — I discovered that all the chairs had been removed. Nowhere to go now except the bench along the wall. Seeing a vacant spot, I hurried over thinking I'd drink my tea first and then locate the gang.
I sat down and was trying to wrap the serviette around my cup when the man sitting next to me turned my way. I looked at him. He was wearing a navy blue blazer and a turtle neck shirt. His silver hair was cut short, and his beard had been sculpted to the contours of his jaw. He smiled and extended his hand. "Hello," he said, "I'm Sean Connery."
"No, you're not," I said, then took a big gulp of tea.
"Yes, I am," he insisted as his hand fell to his lap.
"Oh, cut out the kidding." Really. What sort of a local yokel did he take me for anyway? The band began to play. A smart-looking blond in a denim folk dress whisked him off to dance. The man sitting one seat over was having a good laugh. At whose expense, I wondered.
I had fun telling the Sean Connery story to my friends at breakfast the next morning, and to my daughter when I had supper with her at Campbell River later that week. Then it was time to go home, and I was at the local airport waiting for the call to board one of the prop-driven craft of Central Mountain Air that would take me to Vancouver and Air Canada connections for home.
I walked over to the stand displaying tourist information for visitors to the area. I studied colorful pictures of hotels and bed and breakfast places, wondering if I'd ever stay at a place like that. I passed over the folders advertising hunting and fishing, but went back when I spotted one that showed a log cabin that seemed to be as big as Windsor Castle. Information about the photo said this lodge, located somewhere near Campbell River, offered the usual macho male activities. Below the picture in bold print were these words: "The Place Where Celebrities Come for a Wilderness Vacation."
"Hmmm," I said to myself, "Sean Connery is a celebrity." Then my flight number was called and I was on my way back to Winnipeg. I often wonder now if that man at The Barn that evening was really Sean Connery. Sometimes when I see his face on TV I feel sure that it wasn't. At other times I'm just as sure that it was!