Judy P's Tickle Trunk

My brother and his daughter recently, on their way home from my sister’s cabin in Hall’s Bay, saw from their small boat a pod of orca whales. He said one fin was as much as six feet high and it was both amazing and scary (that’s something coming from him, a fearless sea-dog). It must have been that account that led me to dream about whales last night. In my dream I was rowing my way in the bay in  a small wooden boat when a big wet triangular snout of a whale burst up out of the water right behind my transom. “Oh, crap” I said. It slid back down underwater and then surfaced right along side of the boat and I had to reach out and push on its side to keep the boat clear. I was nervous but not afraid. Indeed, I was annoyed by the third time it rose and I shoved it away crankily. I was relieved when I looked over my shoulder and saw that I was close to shore and, should the whale swamp the boat, I could easily swim home.

I had forgotten all about this dream when I shoved off from the dock at Brooklyn Marina this morning. It proved not to be prophetic in any case, as the only marine life I saw was a curious harbour seal who popped up and eyed me quizzically from a safe distance of ten meters behind the boat. It looked for all the world like a deeply tanned  earless bald man with thin cat whiskers. I whistled and it disappeared beneath the blue surface.

I didn’t take a timepiece with me. There’s no point in going if you have to adhere to a strict deadline. That worked fine for me on Prospect Bay where I knew just how long it would take for a short row around Purcell’s Island or a more ambitious one to Hearn Island. I have no such knowledge of the Liverpool Harbour approaches. As far as I can tell it is just a big open bay with one small Island. Nothing else between Fort Point and Bermuda. It will take some getting used to and as yet I have no idea how long it takes to get anywhere.

Fort Point Lighthouse

That said, when I left the house today for a row, I intended it to be a quick one, just to keep the muscles in tune. I must have been gone three hours by the time I got home. The wind was Northwesterly and deceptive. It easily blew me out of Brooklyn and past the breakwater. There was no chop to deal with and the swells almost imperceptible. Paddle Song and I sped along and I wished it was like the Sunday mornings of years ago when there would be church bells ringing. There were odds and ends of sounds tripping over the water as I rowed along Brooklyn shore – a dog barking, a familiar high pitch whining sound which I couldn’t quite identify. It was either a palm sander, a table saw or a cranky baby. The swish of the light swells against the shore rocks. But no motorboat sounds, no church choirs singing hymns, not even the scrie of gulls. Today I made it as far as the point across from Fralick Cove. On the beach was long piece of green plastic which looked like a kayak or canoe washed up on the rocks. I stirred with excitement. “Salvage!” I thought, what fun, and I picked my way  in between the medley of rocks which were breaking in the surf. Dang it, just  huge green marker buoy come loose and washed ashore – no way I could drag that home and even if I did, what would I do with it then?

Green buoy

It was a rough patch of shore with nowhere to land so I had a short rest, a few swigs of Gatorade and headed back out. The gentle swells which had gently eased me in where now rolling breakers – seas can be so deceptive when you are running with them. I was halfway out of the mess when a big swell loomed up in front of me and I then realized that I had no idea how Paddle Song would take it. I actually spoke out loud “get your lifejacket on, girl” and rowed far enough from the rocks to scramble one arm then the other in and fasten the buckles, all the while trying to keep the oars from sliding overboard. I couldn’t ship them because I might need them in a hurry. I was bobbing around in circles by now but thankfully not close to the rocks and I continued to pick my way out, the boat riding the swells like a duck. By now the wind had breezed up nicely and I had to row against it all the way back to the marina.

I badly needed a rest but if I stopped I would lose too much ground. Oh me poor arms. I hunkered down and focused on my wake and pulled hard. Stroke, stroke, stroke. My wake was made into a little zigzag with the wind blowing slightly across it and it reminded me of my long hair braid. I watched, without envy, a sailboat make its way out to sea, making very good time under the jib alone, the black sun-strip on its edge outlining it beautifully against the sky until it was just a tiny triangular smudge on the horizon. I risked losing ground to stop and take a photo another swig of Gatorade.

Shortly after that, a speedboat carrying three adults and a child passed me. Oddly, all but the child were standing up. “Wouldn’t do for that crowd to hit a floating log” I thought, but perhaps that’s why they were standing; to watch out for flotsam. There were certainly lots of dead branches around the marina docks when I left earlier.

I made the turn around the breakwater and saw that the waters leading in to the marina were quite calm but I was still hauling on the oars with everything I had left. How was it that the wind was beating me up without whipping up the water? So deceptive indeed when it is offshore. And what is the lesson of the day? Put your lifejacket on before you realize that you need to. Better still,  put it on and keep it on. When chaos comes you’re going to want your hands free to deal with it or to hang on for dear life.

© Judy Parsons 2014