Fresh Masa

29 August 2007 Day Ten

While pumping water from a ledge extending 50 feet into Chippewa Harbor, I break my two-day silence to greet a fellow traveler. I am surprised to learn that we share the same home town: El Paso, Texas. Rarely do I meet anyone on the island from the south, never mind the desert. Each of us made our way from a world of sand and creosote, Mexican and chilis to this cool, verdant boreal forest. No one born here could appreciate its magic as we do. I offer my best treasure to the only person I’ll meet likely to love it as much as I, a fresh masa tortilla to supplement a freeze-dried dinner.

The moon is one day past full and nevertheless rises perfectly over the mouth of Chippewa Harbor. We spend the evening on the water-pumping rocks, mesmerized by the golden orb and its dancing reflection. Long past dark, but not terribly late, I return to my shelter for sleep. Tomorrow is a moving day. I must wake early and be strong for the paddle on an exposed coast.