First Day Skiing

Went to Breckenridge with Lauren and Chris for our first day up this season. It was perfect, couldn't of asked for a better day. The weather was amazing, the company was great, and the snow was perfect. I loved it.

PARIS!

Ok, I know I already have my big summer trip planned and ready to go, (Back to the lighthouse) but now I have another one and it is just around the corner. On Jan 19th going to Paris for 7 days. Fabulous... I need to get out of here... I need to go.... I need to be.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." -- Mark Twain

Still waiting

well, bought a new kite a week or so ago. As soon as I bought it the wind died... now... it's gusting up to 50 mph in places.... WTH!!! I JUST WANT TO FLY!!! it doesn't help I found a new buddy to go flying with that just so happened to sell me the kite. I am blaming the lack of wind and now the gusting retarded wind on him. I just want to fly her, I haven't even taken her out of the package... how sad is that.

New house photos

For those of you too far away to come and see the house, here are some of the new house photos.

Middle Eastern Dance and Culture Night

This was from our recent event here at the school that I did costumes and dances for.

Final copies available

Well, I am putting the finishing touches on the bindings of my book, so anyone interested in a copy please send me an email or call me and let me know.

Love you all,
Nic

* mtthumper@gmail.com

ps. I will post new updates shortly, I am tied up with a lot at the moment.

Memories

Funny thing, I was at the spa having a massage facial day etc... Wonderful bit of relaxation really, and as I was drifting off under the subtl touches and strokes of my masseuse, my mind drifted off to the sunsets on Patos. Watching the colors streak across the sky behind the silhouette of the lighthouse. absolutely fantastic... what a great place to go when you need to relac.

Picture sent in

This photo was sent to me from a visitor this summer. They met with me at the lighthouse, we talked, enjoyed the scenery etc... and this is a photo they took of me right before they left. Thought I would share it, as it seems to capture my joy, my sunburned skin, my dogs, my happiness, and all around the magic of the moment.

New house!

Ok so just bought the new house in Longmont. With spare rooms and all, so anyone that wants to head this way (towards Boulder) I am more then happy to provide a free place to stay, transport etc... I have an all mountain pass, therefore free ski tickets, and of course there is the ton of gear at the house, cross country skiis, snowshoes, a 'woody' a climbing wall for the unitiated (to be built buy the end of november) Other then that I am more then happy to have some guests, all that I ask is that you sit and have a cup of coffee with me every now and then :)

NIc

Making of my book

Well I hope to have the book completed in time for Christmas. Those of you that would like a copy, please contact me at mtthumper@gmail.com, or comment on here and I will make sure to send it to you as soon as they are done. Right now I am trying to decide exactly what color cover I want.

Oh yes, and dealing with all of the details of purchasing the new house. Finally went under contract!!!

Nic

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.

Life continues at the Light House

10 July.
I intended to sleep in a little bit this morning, but the sound of voices on the porch woke me up at 7:15. I have had a few late night visitors in the past, but never early morning ones. Today the museum is supposed to be closed, so i am going to do some work around the property, hike the trails etc... My usual regime of sweeping everything and mopping. I plan to do a little bit of laundry, use that water to mop the deck, and whatever is left over to scrub the stairs. I’ve cleared 6 inches back of grass along the sidewalk and plan to keep it trimmed. I think Randy Morgenson expressed it clearly during his years as a back-country ranger. Although the area belongs to the greater public, it’s hard not to feel a sense of ownership and responsibility for the land. Certain trees become my familiars and as I walk past them I affectionally touch their bark as I would hug a friend. Each one different, each one brings a different sensation to my fingertips. The pitchy and gnarled up Douglas Fir reminds me of an old wise gentlemen, full of stories, piss and vinegar. Parts are broken or missing, rarely growing symmetrically, scarred by battles with fire. However there he stands a sentinel on the point, whispering his secrets only a patient ear can hear. Standing alongside is the beautiful old Madrona. Every year she sheds her skin and looks new, fresh, and radiant as the days of her youth. All is not vanity as she stores the knowledge and battles of the year in the dense, thick, hard wood that forms her skeleton. Her leaves may fall, forming neat piles at her feet, but still her beauty is strong and magnificent. I am reminded of one of my most prized pieces of jewelry. A necklace of Madrona ‘beads’ on a string that my grandmother collected for me. When the ‘berries’ are dried they resemble the dark red of the Madronas’ bark. Rich and warm to the touch, a gentle reminder to the beauty found in nature. I am not sure what time of year is the best to find Madrona berries, but it wouldn’t hurt to go and check and see if the ones on the property have any for collecting. I already had to improvise earlier when the arm of my glasses fell off. The screw disappeared somewhere, so I found a piece of wheat stalk that fit through the whole and tied it off.
11 July,
News about Percy is ‘No idea what is wrong’. They did the x-rays, a radiograph and an electro-cardio-gram. All they were able to discover was a slow heartbeat while at the vets office. It’s a little frustrating not knowing what is wrong or how to fix it. I had a late night writing another story for my class. I felt like I was lacking inspiration, until I met 'L' the woman who helps take care of the property and the outhouse.

A little story

I wrote this partly for an assignment, but also just to write, I felt a little inspired. I have taken liberty with some of it, but I tried to capture the humor in the situation.




River was not the first person I would go to if I had a problem with an outhouse. Her dread-locked grey hair, dingy miss-matched clothing, and general demeanor said I was more likely to encounter a few bags of alaskan marijuana in her homemade 'junk sailboat', not an all inclusive self -published guide to the bacterial breakdown of the composting outhouse toilet and waste management system.

At first the outhouse had it's usual smell, human urine and feces festering at a healthy 100 degrees in a confined space. However, this weekend with all of the visitors to the area, over 1000 by last count, our tiny little outhouse was near overflow stage. Even in the cold air of the morning you could smell it before you saw it over the ridge. Parts of your brain would fire off as you walked towards it, animal instincts told you that it was something you should be fleeing, not willingly journeying into its closed and stuffy interior.

As it is with most tasks on the island you call out to whomever can help and expect said help to arrive on 'island time'. It's a part of the lifestyle that we have all come to love and appreciate, while others find frustratingly out of sync with the hustle and bustle of 'city time'. This being said, it was nearly a week after we put in the call for someone to stop the toxic sewage seepage that River showed up at the steps to the house introducing herself. At first I was taken aback by the dainty handshake from the proffered hand in front of me. A dainty little creature, almost mouse like in demeanor, clad head to toe in what I can only imagine were once scrubs of bright turquoises and yellows, and a blue baseball cap atop a head of thick dirty grey hair permanently shifted to one side from a lack of washing. I was a little upset that it had taken so long to service the one working toilet, aside from the woods, that is used as the toilet for myself, my workers, and all of the public that happens to walk the trail out here. For a week visitors must have been thinking as they walked down the steep hill to the lighthouse proper "Welcome to Turn Point, turning heads, and ships, and your stomachs since 1893". Granted I hadn't put the call out and said there was a fire, but maybe I should have, and then they would of sent over someone with enough heft to handle the monumental job.

We spent a good 20 minutes dispensing with the usual chit chat of islanders, talking about life, dinner, what that grass is for, if the eagles were especially active etc... Finally, after a particularly interesting conversation regarding 'swifts vs swallows' she announced that she would be heading up to the outhouse to begin work. I chuckled and said good luck, it's pretty bad up there. I had encountered many of her type around the islands. Men and women that had a general distaste of the government, usually on the verge of or not complete conspiracy theorists, people that elected to live 'au natural' as the earth intended, and sad to say, usually felt that work was beneath them, instead they were to commune with nature and expect handouts from the community. The kind that leaves you sarcastically saying "We have been wrong all a long, they have chosen the right path, only we are to snobbish to realize it. "

I watched her walk up the hill side to the odoriferous abomination and set about tidying up the property and conducting my nightly rounds. Forty five minutes later she came trotting down happy as a, dare I say it, shit eating clam.

"Whew!" she exclaimed, "it wasn't bad till I stirred it"
Stirred it, I thought, good lord why would you ever want to do that. However my response came out as a simple "Oh?"
"I am going to be back down tomorrow to pressure wash it and clean out the rest of it" she responded.
This only conjured images of a shit-spackled outhouse. Had stirring it set off a bomb and she was powerless as it gushed up in horrid torrents, eventually forcing her out of the offensive site?
"Do you need anything from me, buckets, water, scrub brushes. Do you need some bleach?" I asked.
"Oh no, I have everything, and I don't need bleach, I don't want to kill it."

'It'? What is 'it', is 'it' alive, does 'it' move, will 'it' come and kill me in my sleep under a deadly cloud of hydrogen sulfide? Her choice of words was not helping me conjure up an image of a possibly pleasant and peaceful pooping palace in the near future. As I watched her walk away that evening, I was reminded of the nightmares I had as a child using the pit toilet we had while building my grandparents house. No matter what they said, my youthful brain said there were monsters down there that would reach up and grab me and pull me down.

The next day she arrived in a beat up truck, one that had already seen its prime and had ended up on this island to die. In the back of her truck were several rusted oil barrels full of water, sloshing about. As the truck rocked over the big rocks the water in the drums would swish one way then make a mad dash towards the side with the open hole on the top, forming little geysers and fountains as she jostled down our 'road'. River hopped out of the driver seat, spry and as excited as yesterday.

"Do you need a hand?" I offered as she walked to the back of her pick up with a small bag.
"sure, let me get changed first" she replied.
I leaned on the edge of the pick up and watched as she donned a black full body tyvek suit, thick rubber gloves and booties, and a respirator. I half expected her to pull a snorkel, fins, and a floating ducky out of her bag to complete the profile of SEPTIC SCUBA SALLY. She caught my inquisitive look and said "Oh, don't worry, you will be fine"
"Ok" I said as I shrugged "what do you need me to do?"
"I need you to collect all of your grass clippings"
"My grass clippings?" I replied incredulously.
"Yes and any kitchen waste or waste water you have, bring it all up here" she said as she grabbed the pressure washing unit and prepped it.

With her back turned to me I could only assume that, that was that. I had my marching orders and gathered the 5 gallon bucket I used for coffee grounds, old pasta water, mop water left overs etc, that I usually tote up into the forest and deposit under a moss bed. I also filled another bucket with the grass I had cut around the sidewalk and had intended to move to a debris pile far enough away so as not to become a fire hazard. I heaved the two buckets to the top of the ridge before the outhouse and saw her standing there inside the outhouse pressure washing around the base of the 'toilet stand'. (This outhouse is a composting toilet, thus no flush, just a raised hole with a nice wooden seat). Although it was but a small pressure washer, the nozzle appeared as a fire hose in comparison to the bearer. She finished with a few short blasts of water to the ceiling and walls and walked back to shut off the pressure washer. Already I noticed the smell had dissipated some, and at least the inside was looking far better then I had imagined yesterday. With the sunlight entering the side ventilation shafts and striking the water droplets, it gave a sparkling almost fairy like glow to the once repugnant part of my daily routine.

"Go ahead and dump the grass clippings down the hole" she said, bringing me back to reality from my temporary dream.
"Ok, but why grass?" I asked.
"To make it smell sweet, kinda like candied apples"
Candied apples was the last thing I wanted to associate with this particular locale. Her statement brought up thoughts of swearing off candied apples for the rest of my life.
"And this kitchen water?" I inquired as I lifted both buckets.
"Put that in after you put the grass in, try to get the grass all over in a good layer, you will probably have to reach in and toss it around" she replied.
Oh god, I thought, she wants me to not only put stuff in the 'hole' but also to stick my hand inside an area that contains the excrement of over 1000 people, I don't think this was a part of my job description. My grandparents had always taught me to not be scared of something, to at least try it, and if it's a job, just do it with out reservation. I steeled myself and took one deep breath before going inside with the buckets. The shining fairy image I had seen of this outhouse, well damn fairies can go to hell, the smell still lingered about. Lingered, no, it didn't linger. Linger is a term you use when you describe the smell of jasmine or a pleasant flower. No, this made the air chewy. Chewy is more accurate of a description. I felt if I opened my mouth I could chew the air. The thought of tasting it on my tongue was nearly as offensive as the actual smell invading my nostrils.

"Here, use these" River said as she offered me the rubber gloves "no sense getting anything on you".
I was thankful for the gesture, and glad that she had turned down the cuffs so I could pull them on with out having to touch any of the 'used' parts.
"Ok, can you explain something to me, I know this is a composting toilet, and I grew up on septic systems and compost piles, but why do you want me to put grass, coffee, soapy water and all of that in here?" I asked as I reached my hand down the hole and tossed my first handful of grass into a corner. I figured if I talked I could avoid from focusing to much on my location.
"The grass forms a positive layer for the bacteria to feast on and introduces a series of smells that somewhat offsets the amount and type of ammonia emitted by human urine. The coffee is a great neutralizer and will decrease the amount of smell along with increasing the acidity slightly. This increase, along with the eco-friendly soap you use will kill off the bad bacteria. Of course this only encourages the good stuff to multiply, grow, and eat more. " she explained.

Whether or not her statement had any scientific truth behind it, I was going to take her words at face value. Something about her body language as she continued into the complexities of competing bacteria colonies found in waste management systems said that she knew what she was talking about. I grabbed my second bucket and poured its contents into the hole, listening with a sickly interest to the way the coffee grounds fell in large clumps and 'plopped' in the effluence below. When I finished River was standing behind me with a bag of freshly opened peat moss.
"This adds natural hummus to the mix, think of this outhouse as going to the bathroom on a really big compost pile. When I add this it helps absorb the moisture and thus makes it easier to digest for all of the little buggies and wormies that would other wise drown in a soil that was too watery." She said as she handed me a large funnel to place on top of the hole. "Hold this, and I'll pour."

The rest of the clean up went fairly quick, and as I walked back to the house to use my sun shower, I noticed the smell had gone. Or, I had only become accustomed to it in full force. Only time would tell, and this next week, along with a weekend full of visitors would be the true test of her methods. If I went to the outhouse to leave a 'present' and left desiring candied apples and espresso, then I would thank her for her work. For now I waved as she turned the truck around and headed it bouncing back up the hill. My initial reservations over her personal hygiene aside, she was a hard worker and scrubbed that outhouse to a spit shine. I guess it doesn't pay to be a germa-phobe and clean outhouses for a living. "What an odd woman" I thought aloud to no one.

Idle thoughts from Stuart Island

Various bits from my journal:

The late evening is settling about the Canadian Gulf Islands. The afternoon fog has continued to thicken and makes the islands float above the sea on the wings of fairies. Down the Strait somewhere south and out of view a large tanker is sounding its fog horn, warning that any boats in the way better move of be under the rick of being run over. I am surprised that the fog only stay to the western side of Haro Strait. At a quarter to 9 there are no boats within view of Turn Point. It feels ‘normal’ when it’s like this, unlike the freeway it is during midday. During the day at least 20 large tankers, several tug and barges, and 100+ small private boats pass the lighthouse. Additionally there seems to be an endless stream of sea planes and helicopters, their must be an air corridor directly over the south banks of Stuart Island. The sun is beginning to set, the warm colors cause an alpine glow affect on the property and cast an angelic halo around Roses’ body. I think of the whole day she enjoys this time the most. Stretched out on the deck, me scratching her belly and soaking up the last rays of the sun. No people around to bother us or interrupt ‘out’ time. Thisis also the time when the deer come to eat the grass in the field. Given the chance I have no doubt she would chase them, however she instead elects to keep me company with watchful ears and eyes tuned on her ‘intruders’.
9:40 pm, a group of 12 kids from camp Nor’wester come running down to the point, not safe, strange, puts me on edge.

More from Stuart

July 6th
End of yet another really long day. We had just over a hundred visitors come by today. I walked the property trying to figure out more of my keys. Thankfully, one of the keys opens both the lighthouse and the fuel shed. I properly tagged it and went about figuring out the other 10 or so unknown keys. Some are to unknown padlocks, others must be to doors somewhere. When I wasn’t talking to visitors and showing them around the house, I was cleaning. I have been finding jobs for myself instead of just sitting here. Boy, would my grandmother be proud.
Today I decided to wipe down all of the front siding with some water and a little bit of cleaner for the tough spots. The grime wasn’t bad, but the bird poop, dust, pollen and salt spray had accumulated enough that I had to replace my water a few times. I also wiped down the interior window sills and swept my living quarters and the second floor. I plan to continue the work tomorrow as it’s something I can do near the house and museum and still talk to the public. This will be especially imperative since I will be the only one on the property.
After the long day I shared the last bit of pie with Mike, one of the docents and biologists. He left around 4:30, but I kept the museum open till 6 pm before I closed up for dinner. Surprisingly only a small handful of people came by after that, unlike the past two days. I ate dinner, Chicken stew with portabella mushrooms, on the porch listening to the weather report for the next few days. I went ahead and added a weather page into the logbook so I can keep a rough idea of what it’s supposed to be like. I am a little surprised they are saying the Strait of Juan de Fuca will have a small craft advisory tonight. After breathing in the crisp air I headed inside to start doing some of my correspondence course work. I am supposed to write another story, and I am grasping at straws for new ideas. I could easily write about life at the lighthouse, but sadly thats not what the assignment calls for. My other class is a little frustrating because the teacher has made nearly half of his questions about webpages or internet based searches. needless to say I am going to do half of three assignments and then do the other half when I get back to Orcas. While I was pondering a particularly difficult section f wording I heard the telltale whoosh of blowholes. I rushed out with my video camera just in time to capture a pod of Orca’s passing the point. I sat there opening my heart and thanked them for welcoming me home. I doubt it will be the last time I see them, but for those brief moments, I was the only one that saw them pass. Not another human or boat was in sight for miles.

Turn Point, Stuart Island

Excerpts from my journal :
STUART ISLAND
4th July, Day 1
First day of the new journal. After many false starts we were finally on our way to Stuart Island. Percy had recovered from his apparent bout with heat exhaustion, the weather had improved, and the boat was loaded. We left the Orcas dock around 7:20 and arrived at the county dock in Prevost harbor nearly 2 hours later. As we pulled up the Bernquests were on the dock along with their sons and friends. So many helping hands ready to help us offload all of the furniture and my goods. They were intent upon giving me a fully furnished house, well, I have it.
A lot of visitors came by today, but that comes as no big surprise, it’s a holiday weekend. i am now spending the sunset alone with my dogs. I am mesmerized by the tidal whirlpools along the point. I see a life wrapping around the core. I am only distracted by the sharp gutteral noises from Roses belly. I hope it’s only indegestion and not something that wakes her, and thus me, up in the middle of the night.
It’s 9:05 pm and I am contemplating sleep while Orcas contemplates what the fireworks show will be like tonight. I love fireworks shows, and the parade. I love all of that community on the island and I will miss it. Sigh, oh well, instead I will stare into Canada for another half hour, think of things to do tomorrow, and then go to bed in my new home. My ‘show’ today has already come and gone. I watched a pair of adult eagles and their juvenile fishing in unison during the tide rip. I hopefully captured a few good photos, if not there is always tomorrow or the next day.

Final chapter

The next few hours passed in a blur as he stood watch over the fragile body. He wanted to be there when his son awoke, be there when he was confronted with what happened. he didn’t blame Mary for the accident, but he believed it wouldn’t of happened had he been there. That night the bed was left cold and the dinner unmade as the two grieving parents buried their only daughter. It was 2 fretful nights of waiting for their son to recover. Shirking their duties as light-keepers when Jules stepped in and tended to the beacon. Finally on the third day Billy awoke, his father sleeping in the chair next to him, his head resting on the bed with an outstretched hand across his sons leg.
“Dad” Billy said weakly.
“Yes” he said after a long sigh of relief. He fought to stave off the oncoming flood of tears, but the dam was breaking with every breath and blink of his sons eyes.
“Wheres Sis?”
At this he could hold it back no longer, no more the stoic man, he wept into his son[']s bedsheets. He couldn’t bring himself to say that awful word, the one that would explain it all, dead.
“We buried her under the Madrona[,]” he sobbed. His son reached down and placed his hand upon his fathers and said[,] “She loved you”.

The waters behind the dam burst forth and tears streamed down his face as he looked his son in the eye. How was it that Billy knew this was what he needed to hear, when did his son finally become a man. He turned his gaze towards the window pane as the rain began to fall.

The next day it was apparent that Billy's condition had taken a turn for the worse. Mary first noticed it when mary changed the bandages on the open amputation wound. The amount of yellowish green fluid oozing from deep within had grown in quantity. This could only mean one thing, an infection had set in. Later that day he had slipped into a coma and fears of losing him completely were rising [passive here again-say instead, Their fear of losing him rose.]. They originally planned to await the arrival of the Coast Guard Cutter, but the current situation forced him to decide to take his son by boat to the mainland 20 miles away. He ran down to the boat and made all the preparations to get underway while Jules and Mary prepared a stretcher and gave him another dose of quinine.

He shoved off from the dock and headed straight for the St Joe’s dock as fast as he dared to go with such precious cargo on board. He radioed ahead to the marine dispatch and explained his situation. They in turn ringed the hospital and were able to have an aid car at the wharf ready to receive him. He left his boat at the city dock and jumped into the back of the ambulance, his face showing how worried and distressed he felt. Although the drive took a matter of minutes, it felt like an eternity as with every second he saw his son slip farther and farther away. The emergency room was a blur as his son was whisked off down some unanimous hall and he was corralled into a room with a nurse with a clipboard. She was asking him medical questions and he could hear himself answering but he was intent upon watching the door behind which his son had disappeared.

He awoke from his dream, as a few rays of morning sun were dancing on the window pane. The ice cubes in his glass, long since melted leaving a ring of condensation on the table. The only reminder of yet another drink gone bad. He swilled the watery booze, allowing it to rest on his tongue, yet no matter how hard he tried he could never wash away that taste. Only bourbon could burn it out of his brain. He walked over to the phone and dialed the car service.
“Bye and Byes Drivers, how may I help you” came the sweet voice of a young girl.
“Yes, I need a car for one passenger to the airport in an hour” he said.
“Ok sir, will you need a return pick up?”
“No, it’s one way” he replied.
As he gave the young woman the address he realized this was the end. He knew where his wife was going, he knew that he had moved there after that fateful year. He ceased to care, and as he hung up the phone, he ceased to exist.

Chapter 7

The next morning as he cast off the mooring lines and turned the boat out of the protected cove, he saw his now extended family standing at the edge of the dock waving. Although the clouds had opened up and showers now poured down upon them, the children stood there smiling and waving furiously as the boat rounded the corner and was out of view. The next few days were bliss for the family. Another family from one of the neighboring lighthouses stopped over on their return from a supply run Visits from fellow light-keepers were always well received, as there were so few people in this world that understood the trials and tribulations of the lifestyle. The details were never made clear to him, but a day before he was set to return the children were out in their customary fashion exploring the island. The two children were climbing in one of their favorite trees near the beach, when there was a thunderous crack as the crown of the tree separated and crashed down amongst the rocks.

Mary heard the crash and instinctively, as only a mother can feel, felt something had gone terribly wrong and dropped the basket of fresh flowers and took off running. The petas of the delicate blooms barely had settled to the ground before she let out a blood curdling scream. There, lying still and lifeless amongst the debris, lied her two precious babies. She lost the ability to function, her legs collapsing out from underneath her, barely able to crawl across the rocks to where Bridgette lay pinned under a massive branch. A shard of which had peeled off and was firmly secured in her abdomen. Hopelessly she splashed some of the incoming sea water on her precious girls face, mindlessly trying to wash away the blood. Sobs violently racked her body and she was unable to fight the urge to vomit. As she lay there weeping into her own bile she hear something. A whisper at first, then a whimper and the soft cry of her son “mama”.

She rushed over to him and grabbed him, hugging him closely as she collapsed about him, rocking back and forth as the tears stung her face.
“Oh my god, thank god.” she stumbled over her words between each sobbing fit. It wasn’t until she felt her sons body go limp that she realized the severity of the situation. There trapped under the trunk of the tree were the mangled remains of her sons leg. Although most of his leg remained unseen, bits of broken bone and flowing blood could be seen above his knee cap. She started screaming “Help” as she removed her bandana and fashioned a crude tourniquet above the wound. Calling upon all of the angels of mercy and all that is good in this world she placed her hands underneath the log and began to lift. That was her flesh and blood under there and she would die before giving up. Just then Jules arrived and she was barely able to grunt out between gritted teeth “Get him”

Jules quickly reached down and scooped the boy up in his arms, being careful to raise his legs higher than his heart. Mary dropped the log with a resounding crash. She walked over to where Bridgette was lying, now blue and cold, and removed the offensive piece of wood. She gingerly lifted her into her arms, her face now numb, and walked past Jules towards the house. Her once pink and white floral dress streaked with crimson. When they arrived at the house she directed Jules to take Billy into the kitchen as she carried her darling girl up to bed. She gently laid her down, nestled the blankets up around her and laid her favorite stuffed rabbit next to her. She stared at her daughters once beautiful alabaster skin and freckled nose, kissed her on the forehead, and tucked her in for her final rest. She knew time was short for her son, and mourning could be saved for later. She walked down the stairs, grabbed her medicine bag and rolled up her sleeves. She stopped outside the kitchen door, took a deep breath and let out a sigh before proceeding. Quickly her brain switched into clinical mode and she no longer saw her son on the table, but just another trauma patient on the operating table. She walked over to the sink and began scrubbing her hands and arms, watching as the suds turned to a foamy pink before washing down the drain. She heard the back door slam shut and figured Jules had lost his nerve, but as she finished scrubbing she turned around to see him carrying a smalle stick, a leather strap and the new ax. He too had realized the severity of the injury. They stared at each other, preparing themselves for what they were about to do. They didn’t notice the boat pulling up to the wharf.

He had found it odd that his family was not waiting for him at the dock. He was a day early, but he had blown the horn three times before he arrived. Surely Billy would have heard it. He tied his boat off and started unloading supplies on the dock. From the last box he removed a brand new porcelain china doll, and as he walked towards the house he was careful to hide it behind his back, lest his daughter caught him unawares. As he approached the house he noticed there was a lot of lights on in the kitchen. He opened the back door and saw Mary’s back holding something on the table, and Jules swinging and ax down hard. Mary felt his presence and turned, and there, just a glimpse, he saw his son laying on the table. He felt a deep pit form in his stomach, the precious doll sliding from his fingers and crashing upon the floor. The tinkling of the individual pieces now filled the deathly silent room. Mary ran to him, her once clinical resolve melting away as she hugged him tightly. Between her whimpers he could hear the words he dreaded ‘she’s dead’. He hugged his wife close and gently pushed her away as he walked towards his son[']s now deformed body. Jules grabbed a piece of cloth and wrapped up the now dismembered leg and placed it beneath the table before dressing the wound. Here his son lay, sticky with sweat, cool to the touch. A stick marked deeply with teeth marks, now lay limply across his mouth. He removed the wood, and wiped his boys face, wiping away the sweat, and wiping away the now free flowing tears.
“My boy, my beautiful boy” he kept repeating over and over as he laid his head upon his sons chest. He could feel that somewhere deep within, his sons heart was beating and there was still hope.

Off to Stuart Island

Well, the time is finally here, I am off to Stuart Island tomorrow afternoon, and the first 'vacation' I have is on the 16th for the family reunion. If anyone needs to get a hold of me you can always call my grandma's house, or you can call my voicemail call button. I wont be able to check emails until I get back on the 16th, so I hope everyone has a great 4th of July. Thinking of all of you and missing you!

Nic

Chapter 6

He awoke from his memory with a jolt, a bruned aftertaste on his tongue. Why do I torment myself this way, why must I relive this, he thought to an empty room. The sun was now hiding on the other side of the world, and in its absence was the cold and dark night, forbidding yet comforting. He reached for his glass and walked to the bottle resting ont he bar. He tapped off his glass, watching the amber liquid cascade about in the confines of the crystal . He drank that one and poured himself another. He saw his whole life crumbling about him and he felt powerless to stop it. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he placed a few more logs on the fire before returning to the residual warmth in his chair. Outside the trees shuddered against one another, a rogue limb was was scraping across the window pane. Tap Tap, tap tap, Papa, tap tap, Papa, the voice of his son lured him back into a fitful slumber.

His dream took him back to the lighthouse, only now it was a year later and the situation had changed . He gazed out across the cove and saw his son waving at him from a boat and holding up what looked to be a salmon. He smiled and waved back before turning about and heading towards the house. there sitting outside the back porch sharpening the aces was hi new assistant light-keeper, Jules. It was almost a year ago this day that he nearly arrested this man. mary was right all along, and after squaring things away with the Coast Guard, Jules asked to stay on the island to repay his gratitude. To date Jules had been one of the hardest working and able bodied men to serve alongside him. He came up next to him and admired the progress before saying “the new fresnel is coming in today”.
“I will go make sure the old one is ready to be moved before they get here” replied Jules.
“I’ll come and get you when they come in.”
At this he walked inside and found Mary washing the morning dishes. She was looking through the kitchen window and her gaze was focused on something outside the back door. He walked up to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled his face amongst her locks. She moved her head slightly and cooed “Hell there handsome, what brings you by my door at this hour?”
“You” he simply replied.
He was enjoying the feeling of her tight in his arms pressed up against him. A growing warmth was building deep inside him. As he nuzzled her neck and breathed in the sweet aroma of her hair, he finally caught sight of what it was that was occupying her gaze. The once passionate heat suddenly froze over as he saw Jules grinding away outside the kitchen window. He lifted his lips to her ear and whispered “I love you” before pulling away and going to the washroom. He always felt he could trust Mary, he knew she wouldn’t be unfaithful, had he not tried to give her everything? He tried to put the thought out of his mind for the rest of the day, but there was always that incessant reminder. She had seemed more cheerful these past few months, more then usual.

That evening at dinner, as the family st laughing about another on of Jules stories, he remained silent, awaiting a lull in the conversation. As dessert was being served he finally found his chance and announced “I received a letter last week, I need to go to Astoria for a meeting of the light-keepers.” The silence was palpable, and he could feel his heart beat thunder inside his chest in sync with the tick tock of the grandfather clock on the mantle.
“I will be gone for a week or so, but I promise to pick up supplies before I return. Mary, Jules you must always watch the beacon in my absence” he said.
At the mention of supplies and therefore possible treats, a smile returned to the childrens’ faces before spreading infectiously to the rest of the tables occupants.

Chapter 5

As his kids took off running for the beach he followed the path to the garden and the cow pasture. There seemingly wreathed by her beloved irises stood Mary. he thought of the old nursery rhyme every time he saw her in the garden. He could never bring himself to think of her as ‘quite contrary’. He unlatched the gate to the cow pasture and grabbed the wheelbarrow and shovel alongside of the fence. Regardless of all of the old wives tales about how to make your garden grow, he had always stuck to his own adage of ‘feed the cows well, and they will make great fertilizer’. As he went about the enclosure shoveling one cow paddy after the next into the wheelbarrow he hummed the old sea shanty about the Black Ball Ferry Line. He pushed the now half full wheelbarrow out of the gate and to the edge of the garden, still humming along. Mary turned around at him, smiled, and opened the garden gate.
“Coast Guard will be here tomorrow” he said, watching her smile fade.
“I am going to hand our guest over to them when they get here” he added.
She looked at him, silent for what felt like an eternity and said “you really ought to talk to him”
“Hmpfh” he grunted in response as he tipped the wheelbarrow, spilling its contents upon the compost pile.

That night during dinner he sat at the head of the table watching his family eat, and there opposite him, eating his wifes’ cooking from his plates with his silverware sat Jules. An interloper to their nightly ritual. he started cutting into his steak watching his knife slide back and forth across the tender meat and said “Nice to see you feeling better”.
“Thanks only to your lovely wife” Jules replied as he smiled at Mary. Was that a wink he just gave her, did she just blush he thought to himself. The once delicious food quickly tasted of bile, but he continued to chew the piece of meat. He would not allow this intruder to affect him so. After swallowing the offensive piece of food he looked across the table at Jules and asked “Exactly why are you here?”

Jules set down his silverware and proceeded to tell him how the Coast Guard hospital supply ships were being routinely attacked by opium smugglers and stealing the morphine supplies on board. In an effort to assure the safe delivery of the much needed medicine, the Coast Guard had hired several trusted fishboat captains to deliver the supplies. he finished his story by saying “Some of the bastards caught up with me just outside of Vancouver and shot up my boat. I was able to slink away in the night, but one of their bullets passed through my leg and a terrible infection set in. A few days later I drifted up on your shores and the Angels of Mercy smiled upon me”.

He had sat there silent, listening and thinking through Jules story, and he slowly felt his anger ebbing away. The smugglers and the pirates in this area had become particularly brutal and his story did seem to have a ring of truth about it.
“The Coast Guard cutter will be here tomorrow and we will sort this whole mess out” he said as he stood up pushing his chair back. The adults left the table for the children to tidy up and headed off to their respective parts of the house.

The next morning after a silent breakfast, the family dropped what they were doing at the sound of a long blast from a horn. As was tradition the family ran to the dock to greet the incoming cutter. Although they were only supposed to bring replenishment supplies for the lighthouse, they often brought over much needed supplies for the family and treats for the kids. Before the family could issue their customary greeting, Jules came limping down the dock, his footsteps shuddering the planks before he came tot he gangplank and disappeared onboard the cutter. Mary turned to her husband and shrugged with a smile before walking towards the sailors at the first bollard. He followed her a few steps behind and walked to the gangplank in preparation for receiving the captain. As he stood there waiting Mary moved to the next batch of sailors and offered them cookies and fresh coffee from her basket.

Leaving Patos

I am leaving Patos this am on the water taxi. Chateau de odo'r and all of its contents have been packed away and I am sitting here watching the waves once more. It's like leaving a lover and boarding a plane. I say to my lover I will write and try to visit, but it does little to curb the hurt deep within us both.

Tomorrow I will drive to Omak so I can do ... you guessed it... more camping, with my Mom and Jeff in Idaho.

Here is a map of today and tomorrows travel. The straight line on the far left is the water taxi, where as the squiggly line will be the actual driving to Omak.

Chapter 4

Upon entry into the kitchen he was greeted by the smiling faces of his children happily occupied by their sandwiches, and a plate already laid out for him.
“Where is your mother” he asked his children.
“With Jules” his daughter replied through a mouthful of bread.
“Who?”
“The man you rescued” his son piped in.
“Hmmm” he grunted as he bit in to his sandwich. He loved the way the lettuce crunched and how the mayonnaise tasted. No matter what meat or bread she used that day, mary always put the right amount of Mayo and the crispiest hearts of lettuce on his sandwich. He finished off the last scraps of his meal and left the table.
“Come with me” he said to his son. Father and son walked out of the kitchen leaving the cleaning to his daughter as today it was her chore to do so. They walked down the hall in silence and upon reaching the spare room, they heard voices drifting through the door. He watched as his son continued on down the hall, then he placed his hand on the door knob. He leaned in to open the door and caught himself as he heard Mary say “I am sure he will believe you, you are a good guy and I can see it”
“I enjoy having someone to talk to, its been so lonely on the boat, for so long, I started talking to the seagulls on my long runs. Nobody could know what I was doing, so any stops I made were straight forward and to the point. A lot of ‘yes sir here is the cash, I need this much gas now, yes sir, 9 am, yes sir a gale coming in, yes sir pirates sighted in the straits.”
“Why did they pick you” she asked.
“ I owed them” he replied. At this he yawned and Mary tucked the blankets up about his chin. She moved around the room picking up the leftover dishes and the soiled bandages and was shocked to find her husband standing outside the door when she opened it.
“Oh” she gasped “how long have you been here?”
“Long enough to hear him sucker you in with that story of his” he said curtly.
“If only you had really listened you wouldn’t feel that way” she spat back at him vehemently, as she turned on her heel to walk down the hall. The anger in her footsteps was evident as the dishes rattled about with each fall of her foot. He turned to the still open door and saw Jules looking back at him clearly awake.
“I know you heard all of that, and I will not pass judgement on you, that is for the Coast Guard to decide.”
“How soon will they be here, I need to speak with the Captain” Jules said, now sitting upright, returning the stare.
“Soon enough” he said as he shut the door to ‘Jules’ room. How odd, he thought, that a criminal would want to see the Coast Guard. He put the thoughts in the back of his mind and continued down the hallway to the front porch where his son had been waiting for him. He walked to where the boy was sitting on the steps, and standing next to him gazed out across the property. From here he could see the gardens and the barn, and farther down the slope, just beyond view was the shore. The sound of the unseen waves reached up to him, and he followed along as the wave crashed on the shore. He stepped off the porch, his son quietly falling into step behind him. It was Wednesday, therefore it was the day to polish all of the bright-work in the lighthouse. It didn’t need to be done every week, but he took pride in knowing that it was. The two of them walked into the beacon house and headed for the tower. There underneath the stairs was a built in cabinet that stored all of his polishing gear. He handed a rag and a can of polish to his son, and grabbed some for himself. In silence they both set off to different areas and started on their task at hand. Each knew his place and where he was expected to clean. To the son, all of the detailed parts and hand railings, for his fingers were still small enough to polish the smallest of cracks. To the father, the area around the lens and the 6 foot foghorn. Areas that could be quite dangerous, and therefore not suited for his child. Neither stopped till the brass-work was shiny enough that one could inspect their wrinkles in its reflection. It was a valuable lesson he was trying to teach his son. Work hard, and you will have a bright future. Only once had his son complained. After sustaining a nasty fall in the rose thicket, he had a 2 inch scratch across his palm. That afternoon they were polishing, and after an hour his son came to him with tears in his eyes and said “Papa, my hand hurts”
His father unwrapped the cloth from around his sons palm to find the polish had seeped into the wound and was forcing it to bleed. He was proud of his son that day, he had shown him that he could work through the pain, he would make a fine man when he grew up.

As they neared the completion of their task, he looked out the beacon windows and saw his daughter come skipping down the path. In her hand swinging ferociously back and forth was an old flour sack weighted down with something. He made it to the bottom of the stairs at the same tim e she came in the door singing an unknown tune in an unknown language known only to her.
“Where you off to” he asked as she danced circles around the room.
“I came to get Billy so we can get some muscles” she said as she made a fantastic impression of flexing her arms. He sat down on a stool in the main engine room and she climbed up on to his lap, “well” he said “what’s in the bag”.
“Muscles”
“What?” he said with a puzzled look on his face. He reached for the bag and opened it up to find a pound of fresh blue mussels.
“Oh” he said trying not to laugh, “Mussels darling”. He lifted her up off his knee and shooed her out of the engine room, “alright you two get along now” he said as he sent them out the door and locked it.

Chapter 3 Lighthouse story

Ok this isn't really chapter 3, but it is the 3rd installment. here goes:
He proceeded to the kitchen and found the beef stew from last night still in the pot on the stove. As he was heating it up, he helped himself to a few spoonfuls. ‘Mmmm’ he thought, as good as it was last night. his wife could make a gourmet meal out of a few potatoes, an onion and a piece of shoe leather.
“A watched pot never boils” he said to the empty kitchen. So he stepped outside, habitually gave a short ‘come here’ whistle, and started down the walk to the beacon. Not three feet rom the steps he came upon his old dog Pilotis, and the two of them trotted of together, Owner and Best Friend. Upon assurance that everything was in working order at the beacon he returned to the house, his faithful sidekick returning to his spot on the back door porch. He did as he was asked and ladled two steaming spoonfuls of stew into a bowl and grabbed a bits of bacon and bread. he was careful to leave a few of the tastiest morsels for Pilotis.

The kids were perched outside the door to the spare bedroom, intent on listening to whatever tidbits of conversation floated their way. So enthralled were they by the quiet murmurs from the other room that they didn’t notice him till he was standing behind them.
“Well, make yourselves useful and open the door why don’t chya” he said.
His son promptly lept to his feet and turned the knob, pushing the door open as he scooted back into the hall with his sister. Whatever it was that happened to the man inside, they knew he was trouble and wanted to stay just far enough away to still fuel their curiosity.
“I brought you some grub” he said as he placed the tray of food down on the bed.
“Eat up, my wife and I have duties to attend to and we will return shortly”
He guided his wife out into the hall and sent the kids once again scurrying into the shadows. With a worried face he looked at her and said “This man is no good, I think that was opium he was smuggling in his boat, as soon as he is well, I am taking him to the officials on the mainland and they can deal with him”
“He seemed like a good man, albeit one who lost his way” she replied.
“Regardless, I will not let him stay here and endanger my family, anyways, if the Coast Guard or the Borders and Customs finds him here and I haven’t reported his arrest, it's my ass on the line Mary, and its a charge like-amount to treason” at this he turned back towards the kitchen, grabbed the last bit of food he was saving for Pilotis and walked out to where the day lay on the porch.

“Here you go boy” he said as he fed him a few pieces of bacon. After a few good scritches behind the ears he stood up, dusted off his jeans and walked out to the carpenter shop. There was a project he had been working on for some time. A wooden box for their upcoming anniversary. A few months back he had eyed a large madrona tree that had fallen over at the edge of the cove. He walked out there with a saw and after several hours of cutting away at this dense log, he removed a sizeable chunk and rolled it back to the shop. Mary would never think to look in here for her gift, but just in case, he had hid the pieces behind the workbench. Today was a special day, after countless hours of sanding, cutting, and planing, today was the day he was going to start the detailed carving on the lid. He needed no drawing, the image was seared in his brain. He picked up a large chisel and started to chip out an outline of the lighthouse. He could think of nothing better to represent their happiness, then the shining beacon of their paradise.

He loved the way the wood curled up, and the feeling in his left hand every time he tapped the chisel with the mallet. Things quickly fell into a rhythm as he worked around the face of the box. Tap, tap, tap, brush the hand across the wood, tap, tap, tap, brush, tap tap tap. It continued on till he had outlined the lighthouse structure and cleaned up the frame of the carving. He could hear footsteps outside the shop, so he placed the piece behind some tools on the workbench. Mary, opened the door, the light of the sun set her hair all aglow. Instantly he was taken by her beauty and when her lips parted, the angel said “Lunch is ready”
“Right away dear, let me hang my tools up” He replied.
She turned and shut the door, and he pulled out the carving, was this good enough for her. He placed the gift back in its hiding place behind the workbench and straightened up his tools before heading towards the house.

Back On Patos

It's been beautiful here on Patos. Then again, when is it not. Even on stormy days this island has something to offer. I wanted to share some more photos with you all.

After the Orcas Island Fired Dept came out last time I was out here, they made myself and Nick (BLM guy) official members of the Patos Island Fire Dept. I love the T-shirt, freaking sweet.
Here I am writing yet more into my journal. It's an addiction I know. I can't help it.

and of course I am going to leave you with yet another beautiful sunset. More from the now edited lighthouse story will follow shortly. I have yet to finish typing it all out.

Back on Patos

Well folks, I am back out at 'Paradise' aka Patos. Tom and the crew were surprised to see me come off the boat, as they thought that I would be on Stuart Island by now. The little Patos family greeted me with hugs and smiles all around, it was like coming home. Patos waved to me as we pulled up, and.... I brought sunshine with me, the whole time I am here it is supposed to be nice and sunny!

Nic

Patos Island Lighthouse pictures and story continued

For those of you that dont know I am planning on making a book of all my stuff this summer, so I wont be posting all of my stuff on here. I will give copies to friends and family, but I am also planning on gathering a few copies together, publishing them myself, and possibly selling them at some of the local bookstores. My intention is to have all of the profits go to the historical preservation of the settlers families in the San Juan Islands..... i.e. photo archiving, interviewing, and capturing the stories of the last children of the pioneers that are still alive, and keeping that way of life alive for future generations.

On that note what follows is the second installment of my 'lighthouse story' along with another Picture from Patos island. Oh yes, and the schedule for this summer, since several people have been asking me, is

June 11-18th back to Patos Island
June 20th Head to Omak and then Idaho
June 29th Return to Orcas,
----- prepare, possibly head to Stuart for minor work -----
July 4th weekend Stuart Island
July 17th-22nd - Orcas Island for family reunion
July 23rd Stuart Island
Aug 16th, Patos Island for 100 year anniversary birthday bash
Aug 22nd, leave Orcas and head back to Boulder.

All my love to everyone




Chapter 2.



The next morning as they were all sitting down for breakfast they heard the dog barking erratically and the distant sounds of a boat pulling ashore. Instinctively the father checked his revolver and grabbed his oilskin coat from the hook in the hall as he dashed outside. People only pulled up on his shores if they were the Coast Guard cutter, in need of help or opium smugglers. As he ran to greet the boat, he noticed that instead of pulling to the wharf, they had run aground and were listing dangerously to the side. A hole the size of a mans head was quickly filling with sea water, it would be a matter of minutes before the boat would capsize and become unrecoverable.
“H’lo, is anybody hurt?” he cried out as he approached the point.
“Yes” a man yelled from deep within the boat.
“Come out and I will help you”
“I can’t, I can’t move.... my legs.... oh Lord the pain” came the panicked voice from inside the wreck.
“Alright, no funny stuff or my men will shoot you” he yelled hoping the intruder wouldn’t call his bluff.

He made fast of his footwork and threw lines aboard the foundered vessel, in the hopes that tying it to the rocks might prevent it from slipping away while he was on board. As he sloshed through the water now knee deep in the cabin of the boat, he thought to himself ‘light keeper drowns at lighthouse’ sprawled across tomorrows headlines. What a morbidly ironic way for him to die. He laughed inside and pushed a floating cushion and some strange bags of white powder.
“Where are you” he called out into the pitch black interior.
“A few feet in front of you, in the forward hold” the invalid said as he slapped his hand on the water a few times for emphasis.
He found the injured man laying in the forward berth, a white ghastly face gazed back at him in the glow of the lantern.
“Alright, lets get you out of here” he said as he reached down placing his hands underneath the wraith of a man. After what felt like an eternity he laid the man down in the grass above the beach.
“Mary” he cried out, “bring the medical kit and some blankets”. She ran down to where the man lay, desperately trying to hold on to her composure, however the small gasp that escaped her lips upon her first sight of the man was unavoidable. The smell of rotting flesh reached her nostrils as she knelt down unfolding the first blanket.
“Jesus, where did you fish this one out of” she said as she pulled out the bottle of morphine.
“His ship ran aground on that seal rock, help me get him inside.” They fashioned a stretcher out of two pieces of driftwood and the remaining blankets, and afterwards with her at the head and him at the rear they proceeded to make their way to the house.

She was minding her thoughts and counting how many more feet it was to the back door, her skirt folds swishing back and forth between the two handles. One edge was infuriating her as it continued to snag ever time she stepped with her left foot. She was mulling over the impending tear in her new dress when the kids came running out of the house. They stopped midstep at the edge of the sidewalk when they saw what lay between their parents.
“Here papa, let me help” the boy said as he ran to grab the side of the stretcher.
“NO!” their parents screamed in unison.
“This man is very sick, how about you go in and put the kettle on for some hot water” Mary said to her frightened children. They carried the stretcher and its cargo into the spare room, trying their best to be gentle going up the outside stairs. After placing him on the bed she started to remove his wet clothes.
“He is done fainted away” she said, while she sorted through her medicine kit for some ammonia capsules. The capsules effect was instantaneous and the man sat upright like he was rising from the grave.
“That’s okay, lie down and rest a bit, your safe now” she said as she placed more pillows behind his head.
“Darling would you fetch me some of last nights soup and bread?”
“Sure” he replied as he turned smartly out the door.

Back for a mini-vacation from Patos

I came back from Patos on the 4th and I am headed back out there on the 11th. I wanted to share some of the amazing photos that I took while I was out there, along with the first installment of the story I was writing while I was out there, it is a relatively short story, but a tragic one. tell me what you think.




The story begins here:

“I am going to Shaking Rock” she said with her back turned to him. “I don’t expect you to follow and I don’t know what I will find.” He sat there staring through the rain streaked window pane, his fingers running back and forth across the brass brads on the underside of the chairs arm.
“I expect to write, but don’t count on it” her words drifted to him across the room. Merely ghostly words with little meaning passed through him like the breaks of sunlight on the edges of the clouds. “Should I take the black chiffon?”
“Sure” he mumbles, as the ice cubes in his bourbon appeared as ships in the fog. His mind was drifting back to the time spent on the island, a time of peace and quiet and hard work. he never expected to be here, now, childless and without focus. He wanted to go back to the lighthouse, to gaze once again upon the shapeless horizon full of possibility. Somewhere in the distance lurked a monster, rearing its head as it smashed its waves at the steps of the house. Kept at bay when the sky was bright and the breeze was light.
“Darling will you call for a car to pick me up in the morning” she said, her voice a whisper in the ether.
“Sure Sweetheart”

The rain on the window brought back memories of the monster knocking at the door. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, “goodnight, I love you” she said. He mumbled a barely passable “and I you”. She sat there with her hands on the arm rests and gazed at his profile. She knew deep inside that he was lost, and the apparent indifference towards her affection was because he was too involved with his own internal demons. She aslo knew that this stalemate in their marriage had made her question her love and affection for him. With one last sigh and a parting pat on his knee, she exited the room. He had barely noticed her leave but he listened intently as she climbed the stairs for the bedroom. Each footstep was like a cro-bar prying open the lid of his dreams, each creak brought back the faint memory of the sound of that one cedar split in half dancing with the douglas fir with the broken limbes. A cacophony of sounds flooded over him as he allowed himself to drift back in time.

There he was on the banks of Rosario Strait watching as the tide ripped past in a series of whirlpools and boiling water. he heard someone yelling ‘papa’ on the edges of the wind and he turned to see his wife folding the laundry off the line, and his two children running towards him. Their mother was yelling something about slowing down, but her words were lost on the children. He opened his arms and scooped his daughter into the air, giving her a big hug as she threw her arms around his neck.
“Dad guess what we found” his son said, brandishing an object wrapped in a handkerchief. The gleam in his childs’ eyes told him that whatever treasure lay within those blue checkered folds was the greatest find of his sons life. Gingerly he reached down and picked up the object, carefully unwrapping it. It felt light and fragile in his hands, and he was not surprised to find an egg tucked into the folds of the handkerchief. It was a blue egg, about the size of a chickens, with a curious mottling of brownish spots.
“Children come look closely, do you know what this is?”
“An egg!” they both chimed in together.
“But what kind of egg is it?” he asked.
“A special one” his daughter said.
“Why yes, this is a special one, it’s an Oyster Catchers egg, and it’s still warm, so you better rush back and put it back in its nest before the parents find it missing.” he said as he wrapped up the precious cargo and returned it to his sons open hands. He watched as his children ran off to the beach. This was paradise, and his wife looked like a queen. He walked up to where she was standing, swooped her up in his arms, and took her inside intent upon showing his gratitude for this magnificent woman.

On Patos Island

Just an update for now, and I will fill every one in later, as I am currently posting from beautiful sunny Patos Island in the San Juan Islands. and the sunset is about to start. (the highlight of our little patos family). But I wanted to tell everyone that from a week ago, and until June 4th I am on Patos Island, helping to document all of the historical bits. A monumental task, and I am absolutely LOVING IT!!!. I hope everyone is having a great summer, and I will send an update replete with journal excerpts and pictures as soon as I am back on one of the big islands, or maybe the mainland.

All my love and best wishes

Nic

Off to Orcas Island

Well I am leaving out of Omak this morning, I was going to take off over Hwy 20, but the pass is closed for a week or so due to the really high amount of avalanches and landslides. It turns out that there has been so much movement on the passes up there that the water and the soil has dumped ut across the road, which of course is not safe driving conditions. Unsure of when it will all be cleared up. So now I am headed down Hwy 97 to Hwy 2 and up over Snoqualmie pass. It doesn't help that my mom is currently telling me about all the deaths and accidents at this one little spot on Hwy 97. Eh... oh well... I am pretty sure we will make it over safe.

It's time for island time.