January 16, 2008
Austin, Texas
Four months after leaving, I miss the Island as if she were a distant lover. In noisy downtown Austin, I particularly miss the water sounds: the dull roar of surf breaking on outer reefs, its gentle lap on protected shores; the whistle of water as it drains through beach gravel between each wave; the random patter of rain drops on a quiet Duncan Bay; my paddle still so as not to mar their gentle whisper.
I miss fifteen different crazy loon calls, the chirp of the chickadee, the warning call of jays, the warblers twitter, raven’s caw, the crazy cackle of a flock of sandhill cranes and the organizing trumpets of geese as they fly in a ragged vee on their way south. I miss the clang of the bell buoy in Middle Island Passage, ringing in all but the calmest seas. Cricket chirps. The rustle of aspen leaves in the lightest breeze and the deepening sound as the wind picks up and more trees begin talking.
I miss the sound of the short-lived curl of boat wake on a beach; the thrumming of diesel engines on the freighter ~ audible for an hour over a calm sea. And the special rumble of the Voyager II as it spins its thread of mail and island news. The absolute silence of the red fox as she makes a morning tour through the camp in search of available loot. Squirrel chatter, human voices, footsteps on the trail. The rustle of a mouse on the shelter screen, desperate for a taste of chocolate brownie that she smells cooking.
I’ve carried this trip and the Island with me during the four months and six days since I returned to this shore. I live my life more slowly and largely. I wait to make commitments until I feel that pull in my belly that I felt when I turned out of Rock Harbor headed to Chippewa. I watch my head spin a thousand stories about how things might be and remember that they have little relationship to what is or will be. I dream of the next trip.
3 comments:
It is interesting to me how heavily you draw on the differences in the sound between the island the mainland--almost at the expense of the other senses. Still, I think I know this feeling. God how loud our ordinary lives seem when we get back from the wilderness! Forgive the pun but it sounds very good--very poignant. But what about the end? You start something very interesting--about how you have changed since getting back--and then don't really expand it. I'd love to hear more about how you think you've changed.
Nice pic too!
Thanks for writing all this down. I first read your article in Sea Kayaker which I happenstanced to pick up two days ago. Then read this site. Then inspired to get my kayak out of the barn where it has languished since we sold our cottage 5 years ago. Last night went paddling on the Rideau River and remembered how much life is "right" when I'm on the water. Will just have to lever things out of the way to make the time to get out much more.
Thanks again for the jolt.
cheers,
Andrew
I just read your Isle Royal story in Sea Kayaker Magazine....a great story!!! Very inspirational and makes me wish I had kids to do such an adventure with. Thanks !
Norn
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