Settling In

Well, here it is: my nomadic blog which I probably should have started long ago, but never late than never, right? My sincerest apologies to anyone who has tried to keep track of my whereabouts over the last few years- my wanderlust certainly has gotten the better of me. Instead of recounting where I’ve been I’m just going to pick up right where I am now…. in my tent in a meadow on a horse farm on San Juan Island in northwest Washington state- follow me?  I’m sure it doesn’t come as a surprise when I tell you that my meadow does not have wifi, so I’ll probably upload this the next time I’m in town, but you get the point. Okay, the here and now, let me paint a picture: when I crawl out of the door of my tent in the morning, I better be wearing my waterproof boots because I am instantly immersed in tall grasses laden with dew. The birds usually wake me before the sun rises over the tops of the Douglas Fir trees in the east- the red-winged blackbirds never hesitate to make me aware of their presence and the pileated woodpeckers have an incredible work ethic and begin their pecking in the early hours. The violet-green swallows chime in with the morning’s lullaby and the male Rufous hummingbirds try to swoon the ladies with a quick vi vi vi virrrr as the show off their incredible

flying speed zooming right past my nose.  I climb the hill, perhaps catching a glimpse of our very friendly Columbian Black-Tailed Deer that hangs out on the property, whom I have name Calypso, and is starting to bud his sexy antlers, and get to the hill ridge for my favorite view of the whole place: the horse pasture is on my left where Teagan and Alegre help each other scratch any itches while the red-necked ducks flap their way into the pond in front of me and all the while the rising sun casts the most spectacular rays upon the whole landscape, making the dripping grasses and daisies seem to twinkle. Johannes, the two-year old son of the horse farm owner, probably hasn’t woken up yet but I can expect to see him running around soon wearing nothing more than his froggy rainboots and striped shirt, exposing his little tush and allowing him to pee wherever he pleases on the property without pants to hinder him (obviously I’m a little jealous of his bathroom liberty, but I also have not used a toilet the whole time I’ve been here, so fair is fair).

 After a quick brekkie I cook up on our wonderfully simple outdoor kitchen, I pack up my kayaking gear and head to our base with my meadow buddy who also works with me. We’ve been in very intense training the past five days and have learned all sorts of rescue techniques and kayak re-entry skills should a capsize occur. The skills are incredibly challenging, especially in freezing water when you’ve already been hoisting yourself up onto a half-sunken kayak about 30 times that day and you can’t tell whether you’re sore or bruised or which part of your body hurts the most. Probably the most important thing I’ve learned is: do NOT fall out of your kayak in the first place. It’s a real bummer. Besides water skills, our boss has also been teaching us navigation techniques and natural history of the area. There is quite a bit to know but I’ve learned that the island was basically colonized by criminals. Men who were slaves to ships in the area escaped during the night and set up camp on the island and then started smuggling in two highly sought-after goods: wool and opium. There is at least one bald eagle nest per mile of coast line and we routinely see about 10 bald eagles a day. Each time I see an eagle, it still impresses me with its determined countenance and ability to manifest terror with just a simple glide past smaller birds- if you don’t see a bald eagle coming, you can usually guess there is one nearby when all other birds start screaming and flying about with frantic flaps of wings. While it has been a heck of a lot of muscle-straining work all week, today was an absolutely fabulous day. Our boss decided that in order to prepare us for extreme conditions, he would take us to the most dangerous point on the island: Cattle Pass. At the pass, the water from the Strait of Juan de Fuca is forced between a very narrow passageway between San Juan Island and Lopez Island. Depending on the timing of the tides, the current can exceed 4 knots with swirling eddies, whirlpools, and rips that carry you into the rocks. Groovy. This morning, I told the women I’m staying with where he was taking us and their response was pure shock, noting that they thought kayaks weren’t even allowed there and that they had a few friends who had nearly capsized their motor boats crossing the pass. Super groovy. With my nerves on edge, I opted for one of the larger, more stable tandem kayaks when my boss’s dog came bounding down the road begging to come along. So, of course, Valkeeri had to come… in my kayak. Luckily, this meant I got to take a very stable 3-person kayak, but with the pressure of keeping my boss’s dog in the cockpit between me (in the bow) and my coworker (in the stern). And off we went. We departed from South Beach in fairly calm water but were headed straight for what I will refer to from now on as “the Death Zone.” Suddenly, we were caught in waves coming at us from all directions as the water was being forced into the pass we were trying to cross. 

As we tried to turn the kayak perpendicular to the waves to avoid capsize, the stern would get caught by a swirling eddy and spin us off in another direction, causing the waves to fall right in my lap. Then we paddled hard to cross an upwelling that pulled us in every direction other than forward while at the same time trying to reassure the dog and reaching back to pull her back into the cockpit so she didn’t jump out of the boat and into a whirlpool. At one point, all of us were pretty much headed in completely opposite directions and I watched as one boat t-boned another and one of my coworkers capsized, quickly eskimo rolling back to rightside up just in time continue pursuit of the opposite shore. But the current was too fast and we missed our mark to get around the rocks and to Lopez Island. Our boss called out an immediate change-of-course and we succumbed to the current and flowed straight into the pass. I have to admit, it was a freaking blast. Dipping and diving over the waves and the chaos of it all was just the kind of adventure that I thrive on. Perhaps the safety of my large 3-person kayak had something to do with my enthusiasm or maybe every time I had to coo to the dog a reassuring “it’s okay” it was also for my own sanity, but I can’t say that I wasn’t laughing through it all. Once we got through the narrowest part of the pass, however, we opened up into a beautiful bay and pulled up on a beach for a well-earned lunch. 

We hiked around a little and identified some tidepool sculpin, evidence of shipworm clams in the driftwood, and nibbled on some of the local pickleweed. We cruised in and out of rocky outcroppings, listened to the high-pitched whistles of Black Oystercatchers, and pointed out the differences of the local loon species. I had a great time letting our kayaks get caught in a bed of bull kelp and watching the harbor seals come within about 20 feet of our kayaks to sniff us out, blinking their big round eyes at us and wiggling their whiskers. With each passing bald eagle and distant glimpse of a cetacean’s dorsal fin, I became increasingly more grateful for the opportunity to be here this summer.

 It is a beauty that far exceeds words and I am blessed to also be in great company. From the first step out of my tent in the morning to the last sip of tea in the meadow at night, I feel whole here in a way that feels simply natural.