The History of Funk's Inlet

The recorded history of Funk's Inlet began during WWII when John (Mad Jack) Arsenfluffin and his spotter Ling Wong were the Navy air patrol along a stretch of BC's North Coast.
During a storm Jack landed the Beaver in a deep bay and beached it while he and Wong took shelter under the up-turned roots of an old hemlock. When the storm was over the plane was gone and the two men were stranded.
After a few days they hailed a passing Native canoe. The people of the Kitankaboodle Nation were amused by Jack's aviator googles and red beard, but they were astounded to hear that a nation to the south, Vancoovah, was under the misapprehension that it had a claim to the land and sea the Kitankaboodle had lived on since put there by the Raven!
The Kits armed themselves and set out for Vancoovah, to deliver Jack's plea for rescue and exert their territorial imperative. Only the elderly infirm, two women too-pregnant-to-fight and the Kit's ancestral spirits stayed behind.
When the war party failed to return Jack and Wong took up with the women and made themselves at home until the Navy remembered them and sent a boat to bring them home.

So in 1945 Jack and Wong went back to Vancouver, only to find the city too noisy and busy after the solitude of the north. After two weeks they packed a bag each, climbed into Jack's new Beaver and flew north. They built a shack and a dock, and named the place Funk's Inlet after their buddy Tommy Funk, one of the thousands of Canadians who hadn't returned from the war.
In 1948 a boatload of refugees headed for Prince Rupert blew off course and struck the rocks at the head of the Inlet. The imigres climbed into the lifeboats and rowed ashore, increasing the population of Funky by 100 people in a single night.
And so it went. Few came by choice, but most stayed. There is no road out, it's a long way to row and while Jack's fares in are cheap, a ticket out is astronomical. Besides, once you've gotten to know your neighbour well enough to borrow his fishing gear, and can find your way home blind drunk in a fog as thick as congealed bacon grease, who would want to live anywhere else?