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Night Time at Sucia
From below I can hear the sound of an oil lamp clunking my wife in
the head. It is swinging gently from a hook in the salon. She will tell
me to move it before long, and I will. But for now I am sitting on our
aft deck absorbing the limitless sensory imputes that collide into my
senses.
It is near mid-night and we are at anchor in Echo Bay on Sucia
Island. I am only slightly warmed by a glass or two of wine.
We ended the night with a “laptop slideshow” of the pictures taken
thus far on a perfect trip to the San Juan Islands.
There is just the slightest chill in the air. But, it is not the air that
gets you. It’s the sounds. I am sitting on the aft deck of “Ghost”, our
Formosa 51 ketch. Over my left shoulder is a moon that is one day
away from being full. A door closes against a bulkhead below, and that
is the last sound I will hear from my crew. I am alone with the night
and all its sounds. East of me, I would guess 100 yards, is a rocky
shore that protects “Ewing Cove”. This is one of six anchorages on
“Sucia Island. The unusual rock formations provide lots of exploring
opportunities. The water is exceptionally clear for these islands. But
still, it is the sounds in the night that nearly overwhelm you. I hear
the familiar and constant slap of wavelets striking the rocks to the
east. I can feel more than hear the low rumble of a huge freighter
pushing its way up east side of the island. Seals perform some
strange dance in these waters that mimic a patron slapping the bar to
let the bar keep know he was waiting for his drink. It is kind of a
splash/slap thing that catches you by surprise every time you hear it.
Between the slapping of the water are the grunts and groans.
Someplace in the distance I can hear an argument between a seal or
two about something. It is hard to tell who is winning.
For a moment I breath. In through my nose flows the scent of sea
life. I taste the bull kelp and the salt encrusted rocks. A chill in the
air provides a contest in aroma and palette that no chef could conjure
in the most well equipped galley.
The sounds of night are everywhere. Someplace near me is a quiet
splash. It sounds like what paddle of a sea kayak would sound like as
it glides through the water, am I being watched? There are at least 5
different sea birds talking at this same time. I could only guess at
what they might be saying. It would probably be something like…”Hey,
look at that loser sitting on that floating thing pushing all those
buttons!”…….””squeak squeak…burp… splash/slap”.
Looking to the west I see a city of anchor lights from all the
boats that are sharing this with me tonight. I would guess that few
are on deck enjoying all of this with me. I guess I am not alone with
all of these creatures around me. From below, the water is clear and
dark. It is the same from above. The stars reflect on the water
leaving little room for a visible horizon. Sky and sea become one. A
canvas painted in two colors. I could almost believe that the stars are
born of the sea.
The tip of my empty wine glass hints to me that it might be time
for rest. I walk forward and check all that a skipper looks at before
settling down for the night. All is well.
Goodnight.
the head. It is swinging gently from a hook in the salon. She will tell
me to move it before long, and I will. But for now I am sitting on our
aft deck absorbing the limitless sensory imputes that collide into my
senses.
It is near mid-night and we are at anchor in Echo Bay on Sucia
Island. I am only slightly warmed by a glass or two of wine.
We ended the night with a “laptop slideshow” of the pictures taken
thus far on a perfect trip to the San Juan Islands.
There is just the slightest chill in the air. But, it is not the air that
gets you. It’s the sounds. I am sitting on the aft deck of “Ghost”, our
Formosa 51 ketch. Over my left shoulder is a moon that is one day
away from being full. A door closes against a bulkhead below, and that
is the last sound I will hear from my crew. I am alone with the night
and all its sounds. East of me, I would guess 100 yards, is a rocky
shore that protects “Ewing Cove”. This is one of six anchorages on
“Sucia Island. The unusual rock formations provide lots of exploring
opportunities. The water is exceptionally clear for these islands. But
still, it is the sounds in the night that nearly overwhelm you. I hear
the familiar and constant slap of wavelets striking the rocks to the
east. I can feel more than hear the low rumble of a huge freighter
pushing its way up east side of the island. Seals perform some
strange dance in these waters that mimic a patron slapping the bar to
let the bar keep know he was waiting for his drink. It is kind of a
splash/slap thing that catches you by surprise every time you hear it.
Between the slapping of the water are the grunts and groans.
Someplace in the distance I can hear an argument between a seal or
two about something. It is hard to tell who is winning.
For a moment I breath. In through my nose flows the scent of sea
life. I taste the bull kelp and the salt encrusted rocks. A chill in the
air provides a contest in aroma and palette that no chef could conjure
in the most well equipped galley.
The sounds of night are everywhere. Someplace near me is a quiet
splash. It sounds like what paddle of a sea kayak would sound like as
it glides through the water, am I being watched? There are at least 5
different sea birds talking at this same time. I could only guess at
what they might be saying. It would probably be something like…”Hey,
look at that loser sitting on that floating thing pushing all those
buttons!”…….””squeak squeak…burp… splash/slap”.
Looking to the west I see a city of anchor lights from all the
boats that are sharing this with me tonight. I would guess that few
are on deck enjoying all of this with me. I guess I am not alone with
all of these creatures around me. From below, the water is clear and
dark. It is the same from above. The stars reflect on the water
leaving little room for a visible horizon. Sky and sea become one. A
canvas painted in two colors. I could almost believe that the stars are
born of the sea.
The tip of my empty wine glass hints to me that it might be time
for rest. I walk forward and check all that a skipper looks at before
settling down for the night. All is well.
Goodnight.