To J. Garmin: May your adventures in retirement be as vast and magnificent as your dedication to healing; safe travels, my friend.
I have been thinking about leaving the social media scene
for awhile (ever since I started seeing Facebook’s Meta sign in Instagram—I
want nothing to do with the Metaverse, I have enough joy in the Universe) and,
story-wise, I cannot imagine a better ending than this. But first let me say thank you to You for
reading (some of you since the 2012 Salt & Pepper blog!), you have helped
me notice the shape of clouds against a bright blue sky, the chartreuse of
young lichen growing in a rain forest, the dank and salty--yet delicious--smell
of low tide right here, on an island in the Pacific Northwest.
Yes, I had to make drastic changes to my plan because of the
BC, Washington and Idaho wildfires. And
so you find me sitting, very close to where it all began back in 2018, at the
Fort Ebey State Park on Whidbey Island, Washington.
For my very last story, I bring you back a few days to Wells Grey Provincial Park outside of Clearwater, BC…
***
“WTF? A dirt road?!? For twenty-eight kilometers?”
That was me on the way in to Clearwater Campground at the
base of Clearwater Lake. Remember when I
wrote about The Gift of Knowing It Is the Last Time? It’s the gift that keeps on giving: I knew I was never going to go down this road
again—hell, if it were possible, I would have turned around—so I knew going in
that, whatever this experience was going to be, I would appreciate it all the
more because I will never be here again.
How did this happen?
All my planning, all my Google Earth searching, my dedication to
Provincial Parks (the roads to which I mistakenly thought would be paved.) Halfway down the 28 KMs of dirt road, I
flashed back to my pages and pages of research for this trip to a note, “No
Clearwater CG—down 15 miles of dirt road!!!”
But somewhere along the line of desperate reservation seeking, I must
have received an alert from BC Parks that a spot had opened up at Clearwater
Lake and so I, apparently, nabbed it for three nights without consulting, well,
anything really. Wells Grey has long
been on my list.
Maybe it was the stress of those last fifteen miles, or the
previous five nights of camping right next to the roaring of semi-trucks along
Highway 16, but pulling into that campground felt like cozy PJ’s and a warm cup
of tea. I quickly found my spot, set up
camp, and took Opus on a walk. (Picture taken a few days later after a day of Complete and Total Fun.)
The “lake” was merely a wide spot in a river; but at least
two hundred yards wide. Wide enough to
make it calm enough for swimming right from the campground, but not calm enough
to launch Supina—that would have to happen another three kilometers up the road
at the boat launch. That first
afternoon, in the heat of the day, I tied Opus to a tree and jumped in. It only took my breath away for a minute.
After the trauma of the drive in, I knew I wasn’t going to
drive anywhere except to the boat launch, so most of the hikes were out of the
question. But there was plenty of
challenging hikes right from camp and, when you got back, there was a cute café
waiting to serve you a Cranberry Fiz and a piece of the family’s secret Bundt
cake with streusel topping. The view
from the café--just across the still water begins one of the many rapids:
The campground was full of Dutch and German people (apparently many of the RV rental companies recommend a few nights out there—how I wished I was driving a rental RV on that road!) so Wurzig was very popular. When people passed by the pitch, there was first an “Awe!” for Opus and then laughter for Wurzig before a hearty wave. Europeans, in general, I find to be a very respectful group—maybe this comes from living so close together—but the campground, although full, was very quiet and peaceful.
Returning from my swim that first afternoon, I ran into a
Dutch man unloading a boat. I had seen a
sign for the boat cruises and asked him where I might get some more
information.
“I can
help,” he answered with his thick but clear accent, "I am the Captain!" he added enthusiastically.
“I’d like
to do the hour- or two-hour cruise if possible.”
“OK,
those are nice, but if you have time the all-day cruise is the best. We go all the way to the end of the lake,
have a picnic lunch and return. It’s
about five hours on the boat.” His eyes
were alight with adventure which quickly became contagious.
“That
sounds like a great day, but I have Opus and that’s too long on a boat.”
“Oh, it
is a language thing, the picnic is on shore where we can stay for an hour or
two, would that be a long enough break for Opus?”
“Yes!” Now I really wanted to go.
He went inside the café to check the schedule.
“We are
currently booked for tomorrow, how long are you here?”
“I could
do the trip tomorrow or Wednesday.”
“Wednesday
we have two people booked—which is our minimum—so you could go on that, the
only risk is if they cancel, we cannot take just one.”
“I
understand, I will leave it to fate.”
There being no cell service, he wrote down my pitch number
and said he would send someone over Tuesday morning if a spot opened up. Otherwise, I would take my chances on
Wednesday.
As it turns out, I ran into him again Tuesday morning on my
lakeshore hike; he excitedly told me that they had one cancellation and I could
go out that day if I wanted. It was
tempting but I was looking forward to a day of hiking and then getting Supina
out on the water. I hesitated.
“It would
be terrible for you to miss out if the people on Wednesday cancel,” he
prompted.
“Yes, but
twenty other people is a lot and I really need a day of quiet, so I’m going to
stick with my hiking and paddling plan and continue to leave it to fate.”
And what a great day that was! A five-mile hike along the lake and then Opus and I drove to
the boat launch and set Supina into the water.
I paddled upstream until my arms were tired, enjoying the rhythmic
plunk/plash of the paddle, and anchored myself to a log to float while I snacked.
Then we unhooked and floated the entire way back. It was so gentle and calm at one point Opus
and I were both laying down. (Yes! He finally laid down!) I was determined not to time or pace anything
for this stay but I’d say it was easily over an hour float back.
Just what I needed; the entire day felt like a meditation.
Enjoying a Cranberry Fiz at the café later, the Captain
found me again.
“Good news! The couple for tomorrow has confirmed so we will be ready to go around ten o’clock tomorrow morning!” His excitement no less despite the fact that he had just returned from the twenty people all day trip.
I couldn’t wait.
*
I arrived at the dock promptly at ten and shortly thereafter was joined by a couple. I assumed they were the day trippers and so introduced myself. Turns out they were park rangers and only one was getting on the boat: And even at that, she was being dropped halfway up the lake and kayaking down for two nights (yes, it is a long, long lake—very popular with paddlers who like multi-day camping adventures as there are improved campgrounds [i.e., they have toilets, tent pads and picnic tables] at sandy spots all along the lake.)
“Here
comes Captain Matt!” the man said.
It’s true that I spoke to this man three times but never
knew his name. And so the first string
was sounded.
“Hi
everyone! We are just awaiting the arrival
of the all-day couple, I will give them another fifteen minutes if that is ok
with everyone”, then, looking at me, “And don’t worry, they paid last night so
if they don’t show up we still get to go!”
I
replied, “I have no agenda whatsoever, didn’t even wear my watch. I am just looking forward to someone being in
charge all day so give them as much time as you would like.”
But, I think, the lady who was to start her kayak trip was
not so keen. In any event, Matthias (as
he introduced himself once the formal trip began), Kathrine, Opus and I set off
with a plan for Matthias to radio back from a certain location and, if the
couple had arrived, we would back track and pick them up.
They never arrived.
Once we dropped Kathrine at her launch site, Matthias gave
me a map and some idea of what was in store:
“Once we
reach the end of Clearwater Lake [in about an hour at full speed], we will head
up the river and into Azure Lake.”
“Uh, we
go UP A RIVER?” I have seen these rivers
and they are nothing to mess with. It’s
not like cruising up the Columbia.
“Yes, it
is a very beautiful stretch but unfortunately, I have to go as fast as I can to
keep control of the boat through the rapids.”
Oh dear God. I
contemplated putting Opus’ life jacket on him.
Matthias could see my trepidation and said, “Don’t worry, I do this
every day.” And he did inspire
confidence: Although young (who isn’t
these days?), I’d say early thirties maybe, he exuded a calm, quiet, easy
assurance and it was, in truth, quite simple to let go.
Just before the mouth of the river, he radioed back to camp
to say we were entering the river (protocol to radio in before and after this
section) and I could see him tense a little.
We came around a corner and there was another (rare on this lake) boat,
clearly in full throttle—the boat at such a severe angle I was amazed no water
was entering by the outboard engine—barely making headway against the current. We were forced to circle and wait. The water was rough there at the mouth of the
river and Opus, who had all this time been sleeping quietly next to me, jumped
down and sat next to Matthias’ feet. I
glanced at Matthias to see if this was ok and he smiled and nodded.
It was thrilling—and probably the most gorgeous stretch of
the trip with the winding, rapidly flowing river at the base of two sets of
towering mountain ranges—but there was no way to take a picture. You could feel the intense energy of the
water pushing against the hull as we lunged over rapids; we were both standing at the front of the boat,
sunshine and wind buffeting our bare faces, Matthias with a look of intense
concentration and me in pure heaven.
Once on the other side and into Azure Lake the scenery was
breathtaking: As opposed to Clearwater Lake
with its gentle sloping mountains, this lake has sharp cliffs coming down from
the towering mountains, rarely any land-able shoreline, and water the color of
the Mediterranean. Even though the water
was calm, Opus chose to remain at Matthias’ feet; he laid down with one paw on Matthias’
bare foot and then, in less than five minutes, his nose was resting on top of
it as well. I once again glanced at the Captain
to make sure it was ok, and he had a smile a mile wide. (The boat was very powerful and very loud and
so there was little conversation while it was running.)
I guess Opus was happy to have someone else in charge too.
*
Near the top of Azure Lake, we docked for the picnic. The beach was vast with white, soft sand—the likes of which I hadn’t seen since California. “My god, this is gorgeous,” I blurted out.
With a huge grin on his face, Matthias replied, “It is my
favorite place on Earth.”
I took Opus on a run
up the beach and when we returned, Matthias had the kettle boiling, the table
set (for one) and was ready to serve.
The scene took me back to Africa where the guides would set up “tea”
service in the middle of a safari. To be
somewhere so remote with all the comforts of home, well, that’s me in the
Beagle. But that day, it was me on a
beach at the end of a long lake, short river, and another long lake. He made me a hot
chocolate because, despite it being warm and sunny, who doesn’t drink a hot
chocolate in a place like that?
After insisting that Matthias join me at the table, I shared my Africa memories; turns out he had just been out there with his mother to spread his father’s ashes; he, in turn, learned that it was my honeymoon spot and that I am a widow.
And so the second
string was sounded.
“How is
your Mom doing?”
“Frankly,
I am worried about her.”
“How long
has it been?”
“Six
months,” he said as if that were a long time.
The air sucked out of me at the memory of the first six
months.
“Oh, that
is no time at all. Everything hurts for
her right now. Washing dishes, grocery
shopping, doing laundry, walking, sitting, eating. Even breathing hurts sometimes to the point
that you simply don’t want to do it anymore.
It is difficult for anyone who hasn’t experienced the loss of a partner
to understand.”
“Ahh, maybe
I should think in terms of years and not months?”
“Yes.”
“You seem
so happy and content. Was there a
turning point for you? Something that
happened that helped you get through?”
“It feels
like there was but it is not coming to me right now. I’ll think about it. Certainly, I have come to appreciate the life
I have now, as a single person. Let me
think about it.”
I decided to take a swim; the water so warm and clear that I
retrieved my goggles from the boat and set about swimming—really swimming—from
buoy to buoy, keeping one eye on Opus tied at the beach. Just when I thought I had better get back to
him, I saw Matthias go over, untie him, and bring him into the camp area where
he was cleaning up from lunch. I kept
swimming: I turned over and floated on
my back, as I do every time when in a mountain lake, in honor of my
grandfather, “Grumpy,” who taught me to swim and to float without moving. And, staring up at the bright blue sky, I
gave thanks for being given this time on this gorgeous planet.
Returning to the picnic area where I found two happy
campers, I remarked on how delightful the water was.
“Yes,
it’s a bad day to have forgotten my swim trunks.”
“Well,
there is only you and me here, I can give you some privacy if you want to strip
down and go for a swim—you really shouldn’t miss this opportunity.”
“You
wouldn’t mind?
“Not at
all!” taking Opus’ leash and heading up the beach, “We’ll see you in a bit.”
*
“Of course!” he joyfully replied, “You are the first person who has ever wanted to stop on the way to the falls, usually they just rush right on through. They do not know what they are missing.”
While we gazed around the forested fairyland I ventured,
“Do you
mind if I ask how your father died, was it expected?”
“I don’t
mind at all; no, it was sudden—he had a brain aneurysm that burst. He was dead within twenty minutes.”
And so the third string was sounded.
“That’s
what happened to me!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm; I was just so
surprised to have this in common.
“But
clearly you survived.”
“Yes. Fortunately, my blood clots really well--or
used to--now I am on blood thinners, and my blood clotted the leaking aneurysm
before it could kill me. Now I have
stents in my ICA, keeping the blood going only where it should.”
“That’s
amazing. And yet you are out here,
camping alone, traveling around alone, seemingly unafraid.”
“Well, between
Alan’s death and my aneurysms, I quickly decided to live while I was here. Besides, if it bursts again, I will likely
die quickly which isn’t so bad—bad for you if it happens out here—but not so
bad for me. Particularly when I know Opus
will be well loved.”
“Yes, he
would be.”
And we continued on.
With Matthias holding Opus’ leash, it was much easier for me
to clamber so we opted to climb up to a secondary viewpoint, a bit hand over
foot but worth every bit of effort.
At the landing, we sat on giant, mossy rocks, overlooking
the falls and Matthias pointed out where the water had eaten away at a rock and
created a bowl about two feet wide. Then
he saw the rainbow.
“This is
only the second time in all my times coming here that I have seen the rainbow.”
We were quiet for a while—he was easy to be quiet around.
“Would
you like some privacy here? I could
leave you for a few minutes if you’d like.”
I thought about it—it would usually be something I would
jump at—but it didn’t appeal to me.
“You
know, I am alone so much, it is actually a treat to be able to share this with
someone.”
We were quiet again for a long time, staring at the coming
and going of the rainbow. I asked,
“Do you see
how the rainbow is rhythmic in its coming and going? It has a pattern of appearance—must have
something to do with how the water is hitting the rocks to create the mist.”
“I have
never noticed that before; I have not had the opportunity to sit here and just
watch for this long.”
“I am
really glad I am not here with twenty people.”
“Yes, it
is a very different experience…do you meditate?”
“Yes.”
“I can
see that you are used to just being, watching, you also don’t take many
pictures.”
“I used
to take a lot of pictures, but I have found that they no longer reflect the
essence of my experience.”
Then, after many more quiet minutes:
“You seem
so happy to be on your own. I am the
same way, I think too much sometimes; it is difficult for people to understand.”
“I am
happy—very content. I think we are
fortunate: I think it is a gift to be
able to enjoy your own company, to not need to have anyone around. But it is something that many people have
difficulty understanding.”
Reflecting on my singlehood, I continued in a minute:
“By the
way, the experience that turned me around was going to group grief counseling. And believe me, I do not like any of those
words—and they don’t get better when strung together. But if I could offer one piece of advice to
your Mom, it would be that: Just
go. There is nothing like sitting with
other humans who are going through the same thing. They will understand in ways your closest
loved ones simply cannot.”
I guess we sat there longer than we should have; starting
back, he asked if I minded if he ran ahead to pack up the boat. Which of course I did not—Opus, on the other
hand, was not thrilled: Competing with Matthias was hard enough, but running
with Matthias? That was clearly too
much; he let out a little whine as Matthias raced away.
Back at the boat, Azure Lake had become rough. Matthias asked if I wanted to swim again, but
the whitecaps were making me nervous and I knew we had a long (two hour) boat
ride back so I opted to just hop in.
This time Opus immediately went and laid by Matthias’
feet. Once we navigated the river again
(much easier going with the flow) Matthias reached one long arm down, scooped up Opus and placed him on his lap. That
won’t last, I thought.
But Opus immediately leaned his body against Matthias and
rested his muzzle on his upper arm. Matthias,
with one hand on the wheel and one wrapped around and petting Opus’ chest,
rested his chin on top of Opus’ head.
Opus sighed and Matthias drove on with a large and gentle smile on his
face.
I was happy only one of them closed their eyes.
*
Halfway down Clearwater Lake, the water became like
glass. And without even a breath of wind
we were able to stop the boat and jump in the water without worrying about it
drifting too far away. I, of course, in
my bathing suit and Matthias in his skivvies which, to be honest, covered a lot
more skin than most of the German swimming trunks back at camp.
As I floated on my back in the middle of that vast lake, I looked up at the blue sky and wondered how it all appeared from far beyond; how did this look to the energy running the experiment we know as Earth?
First they would see a beautiful blue marble, their focus drawn down to a dot of aqua-marine blue, on which they would find a pale speck floating, without moving, upon its surface.
And I thought, “I am a speck on a dot on a marble in
the sky.”
And it is the greatest gift ever.
***
The next day I had to face the drive out but it wasn’t
nearly as bad as I remembered. However,
three days of no news had me unprepared for the fire situation in BC. I opted for two nights in a hotel in Kamloops
to do some laundry and some fire research.
Which is how I ended up here, on Whidbey Island, with the
third string sounding; bringing the orchestra of life into full swing.
With fires all over BC and northern Washington and Idaho, my
best route home was to come west, then south then east. And walking along the rugged PNW shoreline
this morning, I realized this was the end—the perfect end. I couldn’t write a better one if I had
planned it.
My Beagle trips started in August of 2018 (there is an
archive on the blog); my first venture camping without Alan. Over the last five years I have seen
wonderous things, thought radical ideas, grew to appreciate my Self and my joy
of living alone.
By far, I have noticed most people along the way with their
noses in their phones. Or smiling at
their phones. And, to the extent that
blogging and photo sharing on IG are contributing to this duality of life, I am
choosing to not participate any longer.
My last piece of advice:
Put down your Smart Phone, take off your Smart Watch, take your Smart Self and walk out of the house; go out and seek “a stone, a leaf, a door.” (Thomas Wolfe.)
“There was a time when humans walked without a phone.” (Kitrina Bryant.)
-K
