Weather Predictions

September 6, 2007

Day Eighteen

Crystal Cove

Afternoon found the four of us hanging out on the dock in Crystal Cove. Patti and I were casting; enjoying the feel of the flinging rod and watching the lure fly through the air and then drift into the clear depths. Ranger Carl motored up and we paused to watch the best boatman on the island and one really nice ranger gracefully dock. Patti grabbed the lines and made them fast.

Ranger Carl talked to Nile about restoring the weathering buildings that were once a family resort. The porch, and all of the grace of its architecture, had fallen off the main house last winter.

We struggled with the question of why these log cabins should be preserved. None of us could embrace the idea of a tourist attraction on this quiet cove. But we do want to come each year and peek through lace-curtained windows at the treadle-powered sewing machine in its case of golden oak. We want to walk round back of the house and inspect the ten abandoned washing machines with their hand-agitated tub and hand-cranked ringers bearing witness both to the progression of technology and to a different way of living.

During a lull in our conversation on island history and preservation, I ask Ranger Carl a common island question: “What is the weather forecast for tomorrow?” Rangers have powerful radio receivers and the ability to recharge them each evening. It is part of their job to be current on weather predictions.

“Building to gale force winds out of the northwest with a small craft warning by tomorrow afternoon.”

I was stunned. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked hopefully.

Jim and I had agreed that morning that we would buddy up to round Blake Point tomorrow. He was scheduled for an early departure on the Ranger the day after. My ferry wouldn’t leave until two days later. But if the weather should turn too risky to round Blake, I’d be stuck until it shifted. The water taxi that might otherwise give me a ride wouldn’t come if the seas were too big for me. Jim had rigged a yoke for his kayak and was prepared to do the Duncan Bay portage by himself. But for me to scamper up the steep trail with a 75-pound boat balanced on my shoulder was out of the question. Even together it would be mean ten miles of walking to get our boats and all of the gear to the Tobin Harbor beach. But we could do it.

To prove that he was not making up a weather prediction simply to give us a thrill, Ranger Carl turned on his radio and we listened to “small craft advisory and gale-force winds”, spoken with the Quebecois accent of the Canadian weather predictions, considered to be most reliable for this north side of the island.