Mail Run to Friday Harbor
Wednesday morning… snow is falling heavily outside. With all of our windows, it is like being inside a snow globe. A friend of ours has written to say that he wants more stories from “Winter Passage,” so here is one appropriate to the weather outside.
One of the early difficulties we encountered during our northward passage was how to get mail while moving from port to port. While in the San Juans during the fall of 1997, we had picked up our mail through general delivery. By January 1998 we were moored in Montgue Harbor on Galiano Island, a long way from the Friday Harbor post office. We were forced to make a two-day trip by ferry to get our mail. Unfortunately that meant leaving Bustopher and Sammy, our two furry crewmembers behind with the boat…
We are up by 5 AM… dressing quickly and preparing the boat for our two-day absence. Sammy and Bustopher look at us suspiciously… they know we are leaving. I arrange the satin comforter on the salon settee, a cozy nest for two cats. I fill a large bowl with water and another with dry cat food. I never like leaving my cats alone like this, but it is the only solution we can think of.
The early morning air is frigid and Bob cautions me, “Be careful. There’s ice on the deck.” In the dark, we climb down Chiron’s boarding ladder and into the dinghy. A million stars fill the sky as Bob rows across Montague Harbor towards the marina dock. He wears a red down jacket and wool knit cap pulled down over his ears. He rows with powerful strokes, each one bringing us closer to the marina. There is a primeval quality to the sound of the oars rhythmically dipping into and out of the water, pushing the boat through the morning darkness. As Bob rows he calls out, “There’s a falling star.” Turning to look, I am too late to see it. I hug myself to stay warm.
Nearing the dock, I can see headlights and hear the honk of the taxi we have arranged to meet us. Leaving Bob to secure the lines, I quickly climb out of the boat and hurry up the frosty dock ramp to let the driver know we are here. A 10-minute taxi ride takes us from winter-quieted Montague Harbor to the bustle of Sturdies Bay ferry landing at the south end of Galiano Island.
The ferry arrives like some alien spaceship with a blaze of lights that illuminates the predawn bay. As it approaches the landing, the sound of strong pulsating throb is lost in a din of churning waters and engine reversal. The loading ramp drops with a resounding thud and crewmen tie off bulky mooring lines to the dockside cleats. We board with a handful of passengers, heading en masse toward the coffee machine. With hot coffee cups in hand, we sit and watch the sun rise during our crossing to Vancouver Island’s Schwartz Bay. A dusting of snow covers all the island mountains that we pass.
At Schwartz Bay we catch Bus 70 to Sidney where we board the “Elwah,” a Washington State ferry. By 2 pm, we are in Friday Harbor, contracting with Post San Juan (a private postal service) to forward our mail to us from now on. All we need to do is call them and tell them where to send it… no more two-day mail runs like this one. Tomorrow we reverse today’s journey by ferry, bus, taxi, and dinghy – back to Chiron and probably, two pissed-off cats!
Montague Harbor
Arriving back at Galiano Island before 5 pm, we find the dinghy still tied to the Marina fuel dock where we had left it yesterday, but now it is coated with a thin glaze of ice. With the last dim light of day, we row back to Chiron. Bob opens the hatch and in the beam of our flashlight we can see two little kitty faces looking back at us. Everything is very cold… the cats have tipped over their water bowl, and their once overflowing food bowl is now empty. Bob gets busy turning on the propane and diesel heaters – trying to get some heat back into the boat. I take the cats aft to the stateroom, which has warmed quickly with the Cozy Cabin propane heater. We’re glad we won’t have to leave the cats alone on board anymore. But will they forgive us? I hope they have short memories.
Chiron on the hook – This is a winter I will not forget, when light and warmth can no longer be taken for granted. As outside temperatures plummet, I cannot turn up a thermostat, or leave lights on to brighten the winter night. I cannot warm myself with a long, hot shower. But despite these things, I am not writing about enduring hardships. Rather, I write about learning to appreciate one small light to read by, hot water to rinse my face, the warmth of the diesel stove, and a pot of freshly-brewed tea. Life on the hook, whether attached to a mooring buoy or swinging at anchor, is a lesson on conservation and self-sufficiency that has forever changed the way I live. (Written January 1998)
Indeed, we were changed. Our experiences on Chiron prepared us for living off the grid in the Great White North. And maybe it prepared us for this too… living with cancer. Simplifying life, reducing it to the basics, to what is important.
... P. L. Morningstar
One of the early difficulties we encountered during our northward passage was how to get mail while moving from port to port. While in the San Juans during the fall of 1997, we had picked up our mail through general delivery. By January 1998 we were moored in Montgue Harbor on Galiano Island, a long way from the Friday Harbor post office. We were forced to make a two-day trip by ferry to get our mail. Unfortunately that meant leaving Bustopher and Sammy, our two furry crewmembers behind with the boat…
We are up by 5 AM… dressing quickly and preparing the boat for our two-day absence. Sammy and Bustopher look at us suspiciously… they know we are leaving. I arrange the satin comforter on the salon settee, a cozy nest for two cats. I fill a large bowl with water and another with dry cat food. I never like leaving my cats alone like this, but it is the only solution we can think of.
The early morning air is frigid and Bob cautions me, “Be careful. There’s ice on the deck.” In the dark, we climb down Chiron’s boarding ladder and into the dinghy. A million stars fill the sky as Bob rows across Montague Harbor towards the marina dock. He wears a red down jacket and wool knit cap pulled down over his ears. He rows with powerful strokes, each one bringing us closer to the marina. There is a primeval quality to the sound of the oars rhythmically dipping into and out of the water, pushing the boat through the morning darkness. As Bob rows he calls out, “There’s a falling star.” Turning to look, I am too late to see it. I hug myself to stay warm.
Nearing the dock, I can see headlights and hear the honk of the taxi we have arranged to meet us. Leaving Bob to secure the lines, I quickly climb out of the boat and hurry up the frosty dock ramp to let the driver know we are here. A 10-minute taxi ride takes us from winter-quieted Montague Harbor to the bustle of Sturdies Bay ferry landing at the south end of Galiano Island.
The ferry arrives like some alien spaceship with a blaze of lights that illuminates the predawn bay. As it approaches the landing, the sound of strong pulsating throb is lost in a din of churning waters and engine reversal. The loading ramp drops with a resounding thud and crewmen tie off bulky mooring lines to the dockside cleats. We board with a handful of passengers, heading en masse toward the coffee machine. With hot coffee cups in hand, we sit and watch the sun rise during our crossing to Vancouver Island’s Schwartz Bay. A dusting of snow covers all the island mountains that we pass.
At Schwartz Bay we catch Bus 70 to Sidney where we board the “Elwah,” a Washington State ferry. By 2 pm, we are in Friday Harbor, contracting with Post San Juan (a private postal service) to forward our mail to us from now on. All we need to do is call them and tell them where to send it… no more two-day mail runs like this one. Tomorrow we reverse today’s journey by ferry, bus, taxi, and dinghy – back to Chiron and probably, two pissed-off cats!
Montague Harbor
Arriving back at Galiano Island before 5 pm, we find the dinghy still tied to the Marina fuel dock where we had left it yesterday, but now it is coated with a thin glaze of ice. With the last dim light of day, we row back to Chiron. Bob opens the hatch and in the beam of our flashlight we can see two little kitty faces looking back at us. Everything is very cold… the cats have tipped over their water bowl, and their once overflowing food bowl is now empty. Bob gets busy turning on the propane and diesel heaters – trying to get some heat back into the boat. I take the cats aft to the stateroom, which has warmed quickly with the Cozy Cabin propane heater. We’re glad we won’t have to leave the cats alone on board anymore. But will they forgive us? I hope they have short memories.
Chiron on the hook – This is a winter I will not forget, when light and warmth can no longer be taken for granted. As outside temperatures plummet, I cannot turn up a thermostat, or leave lights on to brighten the winter night. I cannot warm myself with a long, hot shower. But despite these things, I am not writing about enduring hardships. Rather, I write about learning to appreciate one small light to read by, hot water to rinse my face, the warmth of the diesel stove, and a pot of freshly-brewed tea. Life on the hook, whether attached to a mooring buoy or swinging at anchor, is a lesson on conservation and self-sufficiency that has forever changed the way I live. (Written January 1998)
Indeed, we were changed. Our experiences on Chiron prepared us for living off the grid in the Great White North. And maybe it prepared us for this too… living with cancer. Simplifying life, reducing it to the basics, to what is important.
... P. L. Morningstar
posted by Looking for Hope | 1:59 PM
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