Our First Days

Morningstar’s reflections on our first days at Middle Rendezvous Island…

Overnight, clouds have blown in to cover the stars and the moon. Another weather system will soon be upon us. It will bring rain, and our idyllic two days of discovery at Middle Rendezvous will be only a memory... but memories so rich they will last a lifetime. It has been a time to be young and lighthearted again. Heedless of slippery seaweed and rocks that give way, we explored the exposed cove at low tide; mounds of purple starfish filled a rocky crevice, orange basket stars, sea urchins, and oysters so plentiful that we had to hold back in our enthusiasm to take only a dozen. A bucket and garden trowel were all we needed to gather enough little neck and butter clams for dinner. I raked through the gravel, going deeper each time; with each stroke one of us would holler “There’s one!” Bob or I would pluck it out, rinse it off and throw it into our pink plastic bucket. Pink? What can I say? It was the only one we had.

An excursion just to find eagle feathers - does this sound like an acceptable pastime for two mature, rational adults? No, but it should be. We clambered over rocky cliffs and mossy bluffs, whacked our way through waist-high salal, looking up at snags, and under them for the tell-tale signs of eagle feasting - a fishtail, rodent skull, feathers, small bones. We didn’t find an eagle’s nest or perch tree, but we did find one beautiful eagle feather.

It was a time for love. Arms wrapped around each other, we stood looking out over the channel to the snow-covered mountains north and west of us, and to neighboring islands of Read, Maurelle, Raza, and Upper Rendezvous. Behind us the forest was alive with bird song; a woodpecker tap-tap-tapped against a decaying snag. Somewhere the deer slept or browsed, for everywhere we walked there was evidence that we were following in their tracks. We stood on a verdant carpet of moss, lichen, and succulents, as beautiful as any Oriental rug, their colors intermingled in shades of green, cream and gray; soft underfoot, it invited us to lie on our backs, close our eyes and bask in the warmth of afternoon sunlight. “Can this be real? Is this really ours?” Incredulous we reach for each other – clasping hands to reassure ourselves that at least we are real.

First Nation Peoples’ myths tell of a “Great Flood” and they call these islands “Drowned Mountains.” In fact the islands are ancient mountaintops surrounded by the sea. Even so, we explore our island as if it were all shiny new, virginal. We feel like explorers, the first to set foot upon the shoreline outcroppings and fern-filled forest floor. But when we look closely, we can see the truncated stumps of giant trees that once stood here before the crosscut saw and chainsaw brought them down early in this century. Nature persists though, and the old scars are already hidden by new growth… new life.

We too feel the healing powers of nature as we nap together cradled on the moss-cushioned ledge of granite. Bob, looking for a way down a rocky bluff, suddenly realizes his fear of heights is gone. He goes over the edge, hands grasping a limb or salal bush, feet seeking a foothold in the rocky face, cautiously - but with no fear - that was gone!

And laughter comes easily. (March 1998)

... PLM