August 18th Entry

August 18th,
Well its been raining all evening and this morning. The wind kicked up pretty strong over the night, weather station said it was gusts up to 30 knots. Today it’s supposed to be a little ‘better’. Better is a perspective word. I love it when it’s cold, windy, and a little rainy. It has this special effect on the light. Sunlight becomes diffused and filtered. The sea becomes the color of steel, the islands dark olives, the sky a smokey gray interspersed with deeper carbon colored thunderheads. Every now and then shafts of pure sunshine break through the edges of the clouds and pierce clear to the sea lighting it in little pockets of heavens unadulterated joy.
For a short time in the morning, and later in the afternoon, it appeared as if the skies were clearing and this low pressure system would pass, but each successive cloud bank tunneled in through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and brought more wind and cold. The day passed by agonizingly slow, I found myself continuously watching the clock only to see the minute hand had progressed but a few ticks along the dial. A part of me is anxious to start the next leg of my journey and return one day sooner, however, I want to soak up every moment of my time here so that it may carry me over until the next time I return. I do not want to rush it, for then I will lose it and wish for it back, I dont want it to slow either, because then I would lose my ‘precious moments’. Short bits of time that are so spectacular in their shortness that I relieve the rest of my life.
The sun eventually graces us for it’s final hoorah during it’s departure. So absolute were the colors across the whole expanse of sky, and so complete was my rapture that I did not feel the start of the rain or its accumulation on my bare skin. I stare at the crystal gems shining brightly on my leg, their coldness that they bring is barely registering within me, nor do their heated cousins originating from hidden tear ducts and running down my cheeks. I cry, just to cry, I cry for pure joy and elation, I cry for memories of my grandfather, I cry for blessed opportunities, I cry silently and bury my hands and chin into Percy’s soft fur. The warmth of the sky is quickly receding and I imagine it being sucked into him with every breath. I think of all the love the two of them have brought me, how many times they have forgiven me for my mistakes, how they want to snuggle close every night, and how resilient and adaptable they are. IF anyone ever wants to see pure unfiltered love, all one has to do is watch a child and a dog grow up together. It’s as if dogs know what we have failed to learn as a species, life is way to short not to love, be loved and be joyful, every... single... day.

August 14th journal

I am standing atop the point watching the sky to the south. The sound of crashing upon the rocks is barely audible on the verandah of the house, however here, the thunderous roar of a wave from a freighter wake, sounds like a freight train colliding with the rocks. Each successive deluge rams into the rock bed and I can feel its shudders reverberate through the rock and up the bluff. I watch as the next wave strikes the bottom of Lovers Leap then arcs along the bluff to where I stand and beyond. As the wave passes through the kelp bed off the point, it causes the living mass of bull kelp to resemble a thousand sea serpents swimming in unison. A perfectly timed breeze kicks up from the south and sends a slight shiver down my back. Absentmindedly I nudge a stone with my toe and watch as it bounces down the bluff and falls into the frothing tempest below. I inhale deeply, my gaze returns to the undulating sea serpents, and I find myself thinking of the nothingness of air. I am open to all my senses experiencing just for their own sake, not allowing my brain to interpret each smell, touch, or feel.
I think how most people see the iconic image of the sailor gazing out to sea, and it conjures up feelings of a forlorn and troubled life, or a deep rooted sadness. True there may be some heartbreak in the sailors eyes, but instead he is looking out across the great expanse of his lovers body. Smooth and calm one day, supple and forthcoming, or a raging and unforgiving tempest that claims all in the end. It is no wonder that the humors of the sea and women are so linked. One who professes to understand the complexities of either is truly a fool. The true sailor may long for his mistress while upon the sea, playing about with dreams of one day returning to a warm bed and a comforting embrace. But does he not feel the same as he stands upon the cliff and looks out upon the sea. Thus it is not a sadness, but a tragic longing to return to the cold embrace of the mistress tat will ultimately claim his life, if not his soul.

Aug 11th Journal excerpts

For some reason these past few days, I have found myself drawn to an older book called ‘The Best Known Works of Voltaire’. Childish stories really, simplistic, almost akin to Aesops fables, and each story has a character which travels all over their known world, for love, wisdom, or fear of persecution as a result of love. I read the stories with a light heart, and at each mention of a place name, I allow my imagination to travel there and conjure images that I associate with each said locale. Zadig travels the Middle East, the Princess of Babylon chases Amazan to China, Europe, Russia etc... Candide finds himself walking from Buenos Aires to El Dorado the land of dreams, across what we now know as the Amazon Jungle and river. In allowing myself to conjure up the images which the characters are facing, I see myself in great conversations with the Pharaohs of Egypt in palaces replete with crocodiles and mummies. Or perhaps I am in the great bedroom chambers of the palace in Babylon, and at the next turn of the page I am fighting cannibals and wandering about a city of gold. Truly, as I sit here looking at one of the most fabulous views in this great world, I can’t help but feel like an armchair traveler. Perchance a son or daughter of a previous lightkeeper sat in this very spot reading this same book, thinking the same things. I feel as if I shall never waste my time trying to be the first at something, instead I would rather share these moments across time. Standing in others footsteps and for the briefest of moments experiencing the same exact feeling beyond the constraints of time. I pretend in my mind that Thomas Johnson would agree.
Helene, my patron saint of Patos, and Thomas my patron of Turn Point. In truth I know nothing or very little about either. I just know e have shared the same emotions.
In 4 days is the anniversary of my grandfathers death. I do miss him, and there is so much I didn’t know about him. I really only knew his love, is that enough to say you know someone? Does everything else become trivial when you know someone only through their love, regardless of how perfect or imperfect it may be. I watch the last of the sunlight fade, and I allow the tears to wash over me like memories.

august 4th journal

The sun is settling behind Salt Spring island and there is a deep sense of peace and calm over the water. There are no boats in sight but I feel a deep tumble as if there is a freighter ont he way. Even the birds are silent. The only visible movement for miles is the cormorants returning to their roost at the bottom of the bluff. Flying low over the water in a perfect formation of precision maneuvers and acrobatics. Not even the professional stunt pilots in a 9 flight diamond formation could match nature. Although birds usually do not emit timed streams of smoke from their tail feathers. I nearly forgot to mention the display the whales put on today. Riding with the current, porpoising, breaching, and cartwheeling as they hit the tidal wall in front of the point at 35 mph. It was incredible to witness and aside from all of the visitors I know that the whales must of had a blast. Riding a 7+ knot current full of fish. Who could ask for anything more.

July 29th Journal entry

Here is partial write up from one of my journal entries


July 29th
Rain comes easily to the Northwest, and at 6:15 am this morning a light drizzle started. I awoke early to wish Daviel and his kayakers a safe journey as they passed the point, and at 6:37 they came in, gliding silently from the North shore. It is so peaceful right now. Water is dripping off the roof into buckets I have placed and the lone falcon chases a bald eagle. When I first arrived I would see up to five eagles at a time fishing off the point, but since the falcons had their babies, I may only see one a day. Each friend has their place, some come and go, others stick around, and some disappear into the sea. I hear an eagle this morning, but I feel he is electing to stay hidden in the trees on the banks near the mule barn, so as not to aggravate the falcon. Another bird arrives, small, compact, with a clear shrill ‘twisp’. It seem befitting that it should rain today. Surrounded by a sea of water and we find ourselves lacking fresh water at times.