Monday, July 27, 2009
Turn Point
7 July 09
I struggled with getting out of bed this morning. I was so comfortable and I wanted to return to dreamland. The clouds cleared a little last night for the sunset and there was enough light for me to work on my carving for an hour before slipping between the sheets.
It has been raining most of the day today. Nothing that really soaks the clothes, just enough to keep the ground wet. I am a little surprised that I do have quite a few visitors, no the usual numbers, but enough to talk to in the middle of the day. Almost all of them missed it when the whales went by. They were a ways off, just barely visible enough that one didn’t need binoculars, but better visible if one did have them.
I’ve started writing more dispatches to my friends some of which will be placed in a box until the addressee is ready to receive them. In one of my dispatches I talked of my powerful need to travel and how in explaining it I end up falling short. I say something like ‘I just love meeting new people and seeing new places’. This statement seems so cosmopolitan to me, better suited coming from the lips of a debutante. I really don’t know how to describe it accurately. I think that I have only met one other person with such a kindred soul, and I hope one day he will forgive me enough to be a part of my life again.
It’s a quiet evening, the rain has taken a break for awhile, and the swallows are diligently feeding their four growing babies. I watch the parents twist and turn over the field before swooping down the deck to the nest high on the electrical box. This day has gone by fast and I feel as if I have done little, but stab myself. After closing the museum I went to make supper and worked awhile on my carving. In the process the gouge I was using slipped and went deep into my thumb. The blood poured so freely it wasn’t till my third paper towel with my hand over my head that it finally stopped. A bit of duct-tape to hold it secure and I started again. They say master carvers never cut themselves. Boy do I have a long way to go.
All of the things I am already missing this summer here at Turn Point. I do miss eating my dinner at the table by the window. It was always nice to look out on a million dollar view while eating. I still will sit on the porch for sunsets, but it is almost as if it has lost some of its feel. Little things, like I can’t feel the floorboards vibrate in my bedroom every time a deep sea tanker goes by, or eating my breakfast sitting on the door stoop while readying my paperwork. I really don’t mind being in the trailer, I am just reminiscing.
I struggled with getting out of bed this morning. I was so comfortable and I wanted to return to dreamland. The clouds cleared a little last night for the sunset and there was enough light for me to work on my carving for an hour before slipping between the sheets.
It has been raining most of the day today. Nothing that really soaks the clothes, just enough to keep the ground wet. I am a little surprised that I do have quite a few visitors, no the usual numbers, but enough to talk to in the middle of the day. Almost all of them missed it when the whales went by. They were a ways off, just barely visible enough that one didn’t need binoculars, but better visible if one did have them.
I’ve started writing more dispatches to my friends some of which will be placed in a box until the addressee is ready to receive them. In one of my dispatches I talked of my powerful need to travel and how in explaining it I end up falling short. I say something like ‘I just love meeting new people and seeing new places’. This statement seems so cosmopolitan to me, better suited coming from the lips of a debutante. I really don’t know how to describe it accurately. I think that I have only met one other person with such a kindred soul, and I hope one day he will forgive me enough to be a part of my life again.
It’s a quiet evening, the rain has taken a break for awhile, and the swallows are diligently feeding their four growing babies. I watch the parents twist and turn over the field before swooping down the deck to the nest high on the electrical box. This day has gone by fast and I feel as if I have done little, but stab myself. After closing the museum I went to make supper and worked awhile on my carving. In the process the gouge I was using slipped and went deep into my thumb. The blood poured so freely it wasn’t till my third paper towel with my hand over my head that it finally stopped. A bit of duct-tape to hold it secure and I started again. They say master carvers never cut themselves. Boy do I have a long way to go.
All of the things I am already missing this summer here at Turn Point. I do miss eating my dinner at the table by the window. It was always nice to look out on a million dollar view while eating. I still will sit on the porch for sunsets, but it is almost as if it has lost some of its feel. Little things, like I can’t feel the floorboards vibrate in my bedroom every time a deep sea tanker goes by, or eating my breakfast sitting on the door stoop while readying my paperwork. I really don’t mind being in the trailer, I am just reminiscing.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tidbits once again
23 June 2009, Patos Island
Yesterday evening while I was working in the field the only visitors to the island, a gentlemen and his two daughters and one of their friends, came down the path while I was looking at Camas seeds. After chatting awhile they invited me out to dinner on their boat. We talked of the island and life, the history and the stories, over hamburgers and wine. It was the first time I had watched the sunset from a boat in Active Cove. Around 10:30 pm he brought me back to the cove below my camp and the dogs rejoiced at my return. The food and company were wonderful, although I lay wide awake at 4 am from a sugar rush from metabolized wine.
While I was going through the past few days of paperwork, it hits me, this is day 7. Seven more to go. It really does make sense, my supplies are half depleted, my work is halfway done. But seven days! Wow, it just seems like a lot already and a whole week to go. I actually find myself craving some aspects of civilization a little bit. Last night spoiled me for the rest of the week.
Today was a really low tide, so I set off to go around the base of the cliffs at the south end of Patos. It was not easy going. I had not even reached Trident Point and I had to walk through the salal and trees. It was through a really thick patch of near duck-and-crawl underbrush that I noticed my right glove missing. I retraced my steps to the last time I was on the beach and couldn’t find it. Sneaky Spanish John must of taken it while I had my head in a cave. Finally, after climbing through chest deep growth for half a mile, I came out on the southern beach near Trident Point. Marking almost halfway around the island. I looked up to the high-tide mark and found treasure trove of beach trash. Enough to fill my knapsack and then some. By the time I reached the cove before Blanchard Bay I was forced to build a crate to carry the pieces that I kept finding. Styrofoam, empty water bottles, oil containers, picnic plates. A plastic cornucopia detailing how we are killing oure planet every day, bit by bit. I added more along the way until I reached what I call Castle Rock, the rock that sticks up separate fromt he headland and is visible from the lighthouse. The furthest point visible from the lighthouse, at this point I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of trash on a makeshift crate on my head. There was still so much trash on the beach that I was unable to collect at that time for the sheer fact that any more items I shoved into my makeshift bundle or my sack, would fall out. Needless to say, it was heartbreaking as I left so much behind for want of room to carry it.
I eventually made it back to camp, completely exhausted and collapsed for half an hour in my hammock so that I might regain some strength. I have to admit I was some what glad that when the group of 12 or so on the beach decided to walk to the lighthouse, they also decided to pass by my camp without disturbing me. I did however feel guilty that I was shirking my duties, and after I heard them walk by towards the beach I followed and introduced myself.
I nearly forgot to mention, Spanish John that sly old coot, decided my glove wasn’t worth keeping and brought it back to the camp and left it laying in the dust where I was sure to find it.
Yesterday evening while I was working in the field the only visitors to the island, a gentlemen and his two daughters and one of their friends, came down the path while I was looking at Camas seeds. After chatting awhile they invited me out to dinner on their boat. We talked of the island and life, the history and the stories, over hamburgers and wine. It was the first time I had watched the sunset from a boat in Active Cove. Around 10:30 pm he brought me back to the cove below my camp and the dogs rejoiced at my return. The food and company were wonderful, although I lay wide awake at 4 am from a sugar rush from metabolized wine.
While I was going through the past few days of paperwork, it hits me, this is day 7. Seven more to go. It really does make sense, my supplies are half depleted, my work is halfway done. But seven days! Wow, it just seems like a lot already and a whole week to go. I actually find myself craving some aspects of civilization a little bit. Last night spoiled me for the rest of the week.
Today was a really low tide, so I set off to go around the base of the cliffs at the south end of Patos. It was not easy going. I had not even reached Trident Point and I had to walk through the salal and trees. It was through a really thick patch of near duck-and-crawl underbrush that I noticed my right glove missing. I retraced my steps to the last time I was on the beach and couldn’t find it. Sneaky Spanish John must of taken it while I had my head in a cave. Finally, after climbing through chest deep growth for half a mile, I came out on the southern beach near Trident Point. Marking almost halfway around the island. I looked up to the high-tide mark and found treasure trove of beach trash. Enough to fill my knapsack and then some. By the time I reached the cove before Blanchard Bay I was forced to build a crate to carry the pieces that I kept finding. Styrofoam, empty water bottles, oil containers, picnic plates. A plastic cornucopia detailing how we are killing oure planet every day, bit by bit. I added more along the way until I reached what I call Castle Rock, the rock that sticks up separate fromt he headland and is visible from the lighthouse. The furthest point visible from the lighthouse, at this point I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of trash on a makeshift crate on my head. There was still so much trash on the beach that I was unable to collect at that time for the sheer fact that any more items I shoved into my makeshift bundle or my sack, would fall out. Needless to say, it was heartbreaking as I left so much behind for want of room to carry it.
I eventually made it back to camp, completely exhausted and collapsed for half an hour in my hammock so that I might regain some strength. I have to admit I was some what glad that when the group of 12 or so on the beach decided to walk to the lighthouse, they also decided to pass by my camp without disturbing me. I did however feel guilty that I was shirking my duties, and after I heard them walk by towards the beach I followed and introduced myself.
I nearly forgot to mention, Spanish John that sly old coot, decided my glove wasn’t worth keeping and brought it back to the camp and left it laying in the dust where I was sure to find it.
Tidbits from my journey
Patos Island, 20 June 2009
It is a funny thing about campsites, people apologize for walking on the trail that goes by the edges of my campsite. It is as if my camp has walls and doors, ones you can see through. My life is on display, as is every camper. It’s a weird irony that people wish to respect the privacy of your camp by not intruding, but are quick to comment on your particular way of camping. For example the guy and his family who came in on a yacht with a gas dinghy, a speedboat, and a kayak. He is quick to point out that I need a generator and power tools and gasoline. I try and say at first that getting gasoline out here is pretty expensive, especially when we can’t afford a boat for transportation (yet). He goes on adding that a little Honda generator wouldn’t use that much gas, my reassurances that I dont need it since I have nothing to power seem to be lost on him. In his mind my 5 gallon jugs of water sitting in the shade, my single burner mini camp stove, and my hand crank lantern are surely a sign that I am poor, or maybe just crazy. To me they are comfortable and simple. A means by which I can more appreciate what surrounds me. He doesn’t know that I did research on and tested out several tents before finding the perfect one that I could live in with the dogs for 4 months straight. He doesn’t know that the best looking and tasting pancake I have ever made in my life was on that little PocketRocket (stove). He doesn’t know the pleasure of working all day with his hands to come back to a hammock with a view and a copy of Thoreau’s The Maine Woods. As he judges me in my campsite, I have judged him from the comforts of it. Him and his doga are overweight, his 3 boys more interested in speeding in and out of the cove on the speedboat then paddling the kayak amongst the Harbor Seals. His barbecue, mounted off the back deck, smells of steak. Probably served with potato salad from the fridge and a cold drink. I on the other hand, have picked five beautiful oysters and a few mussels and they are sitting in a mesh bag in the water for tomorrows supper. I am happy with my dinner of pasta, Curry, Lentils, and carrot.
It is a funny thing about campsites, people apologize for walking on the trail that goes by the edges of my campsite. It is as if my camp has walls and doors, ones you can see through. My life is on display, as is every camper. It’s a weird irony that people wish to respect the privacy of your camp by not intruding, but are quick to comment on your particular way of camping. For example the guy and his family who came in on a yacht with a gas dinghy, a speedboat, and a kayak. He is quick to point out that I need a generator and power tools and gasoline. I try and say at first that getting gasoline out here is pretty expensive, especially when we can’t afford a boat for transportation (yet). He goes on adding that a little Honda generator wouldn’t use that much gas, my reassurances that I dont need it since I have nothing to power seem to be lost on him. In his mind my 5 gallon jugs of water sitting in the shade, my single burner mini camp stove, and my hand crank lantern are surely a sign that I am poor, or maybe just crazy. To me they are comfortable and simple. A means by which I can more appreciate what surrounds me. He doesn’t know that I did research on and tested out several tents before finding the perfect one that I could live in with the dogs for 4 months straight. He doesn’t know that the best looking and tasting pancake I have ever made in my life was on that little PocketRocket (stove). He doesn’t know the pleasure of working all day with his hands to come back to a hammock with a view and a copy of Thoreau’s The Maine Woods. As he judges me in my campsite, I have judged him from the comforts of it. Him and his doga are overweight, his 3 boys more interested in speeding in and out of the cove on the speedboat then paddling the kayak amongst the Harbor Seals. His barbecue, mounted off the back deck, smells of steak. Probably served with potato salad from the fridge and a cold drink. I on the other hand, have picked five beautiful oysters and a few mussels and they are sitting in a mesh bag in the water for tomorrows supper. I am happy with my dinner of pasta, Curry, Lentils, and carrot.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Life as a lightkeeper, once again!
Yep, I am back up doing the lighthouse thing again. So every now and then I will post something from my journal. Again if you want a copy of the 'book' from this year please let me know.
Nic
17 June 09,
Back on Patos, lost my camera back at the landing on North Beach. Didn’t Paul Theroux in The Old Patagonia Express say something about the joy of traveling without a camera. I also stupidly left my car charger inverter at home, so I am only able to charge the VHF raio and use it for communication. Leaving my phone as an emergency resource. I gave the information to Nick, and I’ll wait to see if all of that comes through. All of my camp is set up in the furthest site, the one we call ‘Calebs Camp’. Everything is comfortable and in its place, even my hammock. The view of course is spectacular and from this vantage point I can watch the boats come in and out of Active Cove. Watch them bobble up and down as a freighter waves comes in. Compressed between the walls of Patos and Little patos, I can actually see the water rise and fall without the discerning crest of a wave.
I do feel a tad lonely already, but not as much as I will when the boats leave. There is something comforting about still hearing human voices, I may not be actually eavesdropping, but I still tune in, if just a little to hear that little slice of humanity.
“Hey Robin come here.” A man calls out from his boat.
“Yes dear.”
“You didn’t shut the cooler.”
“Oh.”
The dogs are napping peacefully in the shade and although the clouds and possible rain of this morning have burned off, the sun provides little warmth to the stiff breeze. My lunch of Honey Bunny Graham Crackers and honey almond butter is enough to give me a much needed jolt after this morning. Funny how on the ride over this morning, two of the folks on the boat live in Longmont, not more then a mile from me! I gave them my information and they may contact me when I return to Colorado. (Later I found out that this is the granddaughter of my great-grandfather Jack Barfoots best friend. She went to visit my great-grandma right after that trip and talked of a young lady with two dogs going out to Patos)
It’s barely even 6:30 pm and I am already a bit sleepy. After dinner I shuffle papers, knit another 10 stitches on my hat, then head over to the grass ont he point. I drift off watching the sun and shadows on Percy’s head before a hummingbird flys at my face and flares his tail. I think ‘Woah buddy! I dare you to pick a fight with me”.
I have a funny mix of feelings about the next two weeks. I am excited to be out here again amongst the harbor seals and eagles, but there is a part of me that is scared. Scared of possible boredom, loneliness, solitude, injuries. All of that, but I also like that I feel that fear as it seems normal.
There is a seal out playing Active Cove and I can see his body twit and glide under the water from my vantage point. Little wet exhalations as he bobs his head along the surface. I am not the only one doing the watching. As the sun starts to slip further into the western sky, clouds start to roll in with the breeze. The kind of fluffy strung out clouds that make for a spectacular sunset. At this rate i hope I am awake for it.
On my evening walk out to the sunset spot I came across 3 baby swallows laying in the grass. Two died while I searched for their nest. The third will be dead by nightfall. They were so small and fragile, each one barely larger than a quarter, but already their pin feathers were showing along with the tell-tale blue feathers that made them so easy to identify.
Nic
17 June 09,
Back on Patos, lost my camera back at the landing on North Beach. Didn’t Paul Theroux in The Old Patagonia Express say something about the joy of traveling without a camera. I also stupidly left my car charger inverter at home, so I am only able to charge the VHF raio and use it for communication. Leaving my phone as an emergency resource. I gave the information to Nick, and I’ll wait to see if all of that comes through. All of my camp is set up in the furthest site, the one we call ‘Calebs Camp’. Everything is comfortable and in its place, even my hammock. The view of course is spectacular and from this vantage point I can watch the boats come in and out of Active Cove. Watch them bobble up and down as a freighter waves comes in. Compressed between the walls of Patos and Little patos, I can actually see the water rise and fall without the discerning crest of a wave.
I do feel a tad lonely already, but not as much as I will when the boats leave. There is something comforting about still hearing human voices, I may not be actually eavesdropping, but I still tune in, if just a little to hear that little slice of humanity.
“Hey Robin come here.” A man calls out from his boat.
“Yes dear.”
“You didn’t shut the cooler.”
“Oh.”
The dogs are napping peacefully in the shade and although the clouds and possible rain of this morning have burned off, the sun provides little warmth to the stiff breeze. My lunch of Honey Bunny Graham Crackers and honey almond butter is enough to give me a much needed jolt after this morning. Funny how on the ride over this morning, two of the folks on the boat live in Longmont, not more then a mile from me! I gave them my information and they may contact me when I return to Colorado. (Later I found out that this is the granddaughter of my great-grandfather Jack Barfoots best friend. She went to visit my great-grandma right after that trip and talked of a young lady with two dogs going out to Patos)
It’s barely even 6:30 pm and I am already a bit sleepy. After dinner I shuffle papers, knit another 10 stitches on my hat, then head over to the grass ont he point. I drift off watching the sun and shadows on Percy’s head before a hummingbird flys at my face and flares his tail. I think ‘Woah buddy! I dare you to pick a fight with me”.
I have a funny mix of feelings about the next two weeks. I am excited to be out here again amongst the harbor seals and eagles, but there is a part of me that is scared. Scared of possible boredom, loneliness, solitude, injuries. All of that, but I also like that I feel that fear as it seems normal.
There is a seal out playing Active Cove and I can see his body twit and glide under the water from my vantage point. Little wet exhalations as he bobs his head along the surface. I am not the only one doing the watching. As the sun starts to slip further into the western sky, clouds start to roll in with the breeze. The kind of fluffy strung out clouds that make for a spectacular sunset. At this rate i hope I am awake for it.
On my evening walk out to the sunset spot I came across 3 baby swallows laying in the grass. Two died while I searched for their nest. The third will be dead by nightfall. They were so small and fragile, each one barely larger than a quarter, but already their pin feathers were showing along with the tell-tale blue feathers that made them so easy to identify.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)