7:27
A Song for Time
And the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
I’ve loved the music in your voice
And your gentle sounds of silence
I’ve dreamed of the whispers and sighs
Of your lonely lows and gleeful highs
Oh the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
When I close my eyes and listen hard
The melody flows through my mind
Of gentle touches, graceful brushes
The quiet rush of my heart songs trills
Oh the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
And though my ears won’t hear the music
The music never ends
7:26
7:26
No, he hadn’t asked for it, but now that it was there, he might as well use it. Using things was really what Jakob did best.
First things first. It needs a name: a label. Hard to dish out orders if no one is listening. And you can’t guarantee they’ll be listening unless you take matters into your own hands. So. A name, a label, a title as it were. Several options twisted silently across Jakob’s tongue until one dripped off the tip. Shithead. Short, to the point, and useful as a reminder. Haid for public consumption; something to twist the blade and yet offer some small bit of hope.
Hope was also something Jacob understood. He had never encountered it; in fact, hope mostly felt it a mythological creature always spoken of in hushed tones, but never quite there, never quite real. But hope was the whip that drove his will over what obstacles the universe tried to throw in his face. Hope was the dream that could be used, crushed and then used again. Hope was an unending source of power to those who used it and an unquenchable source of weakness and espalier to those who would be used by it.
And hope is what would serve best to break this new beast of burden. A thorn bridle with velvet ties: unending pain with just enough softness to inspire an imaginary surcease.
Haid. It was done.
7:25
7:25
The Past
Jakob had not asked for an heir. He neither wanted nor could tolerate children. He asked for no son, desired no ward; he wanted no children, no students, no lover, no companion, no wife, no sister or brother, no parents, friends, cousins relatives of any sort. Jakob desired nothing from anyone. Jakob wanted to be left alone, and in the normal course of events that was a situation he was well capable of creating without aid or interference from the greater world.
For Jakob knew beyond any doubt that he was alone in a hostile place and nothing, not anyone, existed with any ability to change that. Not even Jakob himself could twist reality to accomplish that particular miracle.
And Jakob was a master at twisting reality. Because Jacob knew beyond any doubt he was alone, it followed that his reality must therefore subsume any other. And if it didn’t, well, there were things that could be done if one was determined or ruthless enough. The moon and stars revolved around Jakob’s whims, and he dedicated his unending struggle to keeping it so. And he always — always — won.
But in one small, tiny instance, in one unexpected and unforeseen turn, Jakob was forced to wrestle his reality to accommodate … a change. Jakob had not asked for an heir and he desired no student; but Jakob was going to make sure that this … anomaly … would be turned to the greater good of Jakob.
Because that’s the only thing that truly was real in the world that Jakob endured.
7:24
7:24
Hickory dickory dock
My eyes can’t stand the shock
The clock flowed down
Its face a frown
And exclaimed quite loudly
What the fuck?
Higgledy piggledy math
No victims escape its wrath
It all added up
No murmurs of s’up
We were so deep in it
We had to laugh
Hippity hoppity boo
There remains but one thing to do
If we flee for our souls
We might escape the coals
Before any of the hunters
Manage to
7:23
7:23
So. Shall we inhale … breathe out … and go on …?
But what of the missing story? What of the parts that exist between the narratives? What of the stories yet untold?
Shall we not delve into these spaces, into the moments between inhalation and exhalation? Because what lies between is often the key to what is to come.
But no. These interstitial spaces shall remain untouched for now; let them reveal themselves in the currents and flows of the existing stories. The pattern will reveal itself in the weave.
What is important is the power behind the story: the engine that drives forth the narrative. And that, dear reader, is the past. What comes before of necessity shapes and forms what will be. Let us the look back and see the beginnings of our tale. Let us peer into the past and reveal the cauldron that has spit forth the life of our story. Yes, let us.
7:22
7:22
Ah, intermission. Or … Well, what do they call it in books? An interruptus? Interlingua? Intertexuality? Maybe a caesura … no, that just sounds awful. Narrative delay? No, that’s just pretentious and annoying. Let’s see, how about … yes … a Dramatic Pause!
So, shall we pause dramatically? Shall we interrupt the flow of narrative once more and examine our reasons for this grand project? Shall we recap and review, retake and reconsider? Shall we? Shall we?
Ah, such is the role and glory of the narrator: to create such moments and gather the collective breaths of readers one and all in the palm of my hand and to slowly, so slowly, allow them to exhale; to breathe at my will for the very soul of the story’s flow, for the fleeting, momentary, exquisite pleasure that comes from a well-paced narrative. Yes, such is the great burden that I bear for the sake of you, my readers.
And I remember. I too was once a mere reader, caught up in the web of some author’s whim. I too experienced the rhapsody of intricate pacing and methodically played-out moments. I remember and thus I bring to you all the joy and wonder that is in my grasp to give, and I bid you take in my tale and experience the sweetness of the wind that I evoke from the plain and simple words before you.
Breathe!
7:21 Boating postscript
So the question is: do we like sailing or power boating? As Ian from Nanaimo Yacht Charters put it, it is sort of like comparing a hiking holiday to a beach vacation: they both have their place. And I guess that is why I wanted to try both. I think overall I like sailing a bit better; it is more physical and the sailboats are works of art. But I started this whole thing in my head last year in the Alsace when I realized I couldn’t keep flying to France and renting a canalboat for a boating fix: the flights were killing me. As I suspected, our vacation on the Pearl was very much like a canal boat trip. 3 or 4 hours of cruising and an afternoon of touristy stuff or just plain relaxing. There is tons to see and do in the Gulf Islands alone and then there is also the Sunshine Coast and Desolation Sound to throw in.
Based on that I think we might stick with the powerboats for a while. I still want to put in the sailing hours, but maybe I can do that on local lakes. If I am going to fly out to the coast to relax, I might just be better served to pop around in the speed, comfort and luxury of a powerboat. But then again, if I switch to trawlers or slower boats, I will be doing the same 7 knots that a good sailboat can pull under power.
Oh well, I have a year to figure it all out and a crew’s opinion to weigh. Time will tell I guess.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled beaver and bunny show…
7:20
7:20
Ohmyfuckinggodwillthisguynevershutup! Some people drone on and on with no care in the world. It’s pathetic really.
The beaver turned to glance up at the apartment window with its faded green trim and dingey brick, and felt a moment of whimsical longing. It had been a long wait, but now the waiting was over. Barring any more stupid rabbit moves, he should have this thing wrapped up in a couple of hours. And then maybe he could concentrate on some payback. He really had no idea who was behind the whole ’let’s stick some critters in a a box and take ’em for a ride’ fiasco, but he was going to have some spare time on his hands right away and it was time to see whether The Beaver still had it.
7:19 Dong Wait Done
Bright and early we were up and around. I started the generator and flipped the breaker for the range and hot water. I packed up and organized the stuff in the cabin while waiting for the water to boil.
After a nice cup of coffee I had a quick shower and put on my last clean shirt. While L putzed around packing and readying I pulled up the tender and put out the fenders. Eventually C and I slipped the bow line from the mooring bouy and putted off to the waste pump out.
My docking was pretty good and we hooked up and sucked the grunge out the holding tanks. After casting off we headed one last time down the channel to Stones Marina.
I had been promising to show C the giant cylinder of rock I had spotted earlier. I originally was going to take the dinghy so we had named it the dinghy dong. But every time we were down that way I kept forgetting. This morning, however, we finally found it and it was fine. Good even.
One last dock at the fuel dock and we pumped in another $5 of diesel. Then Ian came over to take us in. Turned out though we were just skipping ahead 2 spots so he invited me to do it. I said sure and confidently pulled out. Then I saw the tiny spot we were aiming for. I think Ian neglected that tidbit on purpose.
Anyway I managed ok with a bit of coaching from Ian and we shut off the engines for the last time. Clean up was quick and we offloaded our stuff into a cart and rolled it off the wharf.
Garbage and recycling done, we dropped off the keys and slowly walked away from the marina, sad and tearful.
Walking back to the bags I passed a man in his workshop declaiming loudly. He was basically complaining about what was wrong with the world. Ironically enough his main thesis was that “Whiners and complainers rule the world.” I refrained from pointing the irony out though.
Check in at SeaAir had us just under the baggage weight allowance and we settled in for a bit of a wait as we were about an hour early. There is rumour we will be flying in a Beaver but we will have to wait and see.
Sure enough an hour and a bit later a classic Beaver landed in front of us. We walked down and loaded up. Another couple took the back seat and I once again lucked out with the copilot’s seat. The flight was speedy and low altitude and in a surprisingly crowded air space; we even saw a Coast Guard helicopter zooming by. Our little rodent was a beautiful DH2 Beaver, serial #1000 built in 1956. I absolutely love these planes; if there is anything we Canadians should be bragging about its our early aerospace industry. It really makes the nonsense that went on during the Diefenbaker administration all that more shameful.
Soon enough we were landing on the Fraser River. I got to say that this is the way to travel. Minimal security and no crowds. After we got off, we headed off the dock and few minutes later we jumped in their shuttle. All in all it was 1.5 hours from marina to the other side of Vancouver security.
On the way to Security we were amused by a dancing beaver and his friend the moose. They were doing it Gangam Style. Beavers were certainly a bit of a recurring theme this year. We stopped by Vera’s for some dogs and fries and chill-axed for an hour or so waiting for our flight. Everyone is plenty tired but I’m a bit wistful about leaving. That’s to be expected I guess. Sigh.
Soon enough we boarded our flight and zoomed off for home. About half way home they announced that YEG was socked in and we had to circle in a holding pattern for at least 20 minutes. Seems a small thunderstorm was over the airport. By the time we’d landed the roads were dry so it must have been pretty small.
Luggage, truck, 35 minutes on the Henday and we were home. We picked up a few essentials at Sobey’s on the way and dropped out bags in the condo. I guess the vacation is over.
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7:18 Faster Faster Pussycat
Last night and today we have amused ourselves coming up with boat names. Some of the more reasonable suggestions have been Rabbit Hole or Bijee Bijee (Ueker-anian for hurry hurry). Some of the unreasonable ones include Dirty Fresh Pants or … It really got going when dinghy names were thrown in the hat. I liked Dinghy Dong while Leslie was partial to Cod Piece. Now all we need is a boat.
Morning brought a shower and toasted begrudged blueberry English muffins. Afterwards I checked out the engines and decided to top up the water tank. Our neighbour in Penalty Box was already using the hose so I amused myself for 10 minutes. Next time I looked up Windy I had his hose out and waiting. Sigh. Then Windy I informed me that the water had stopped. So I headed down the dock checking the valves. Eventually I came upon a repairman fixing a faucet. “A-ha,” I exclaimed. He informed me it would be 5 minutes. I headed back and informed everyone of the delay. 15 minutes later I gave up since I figured the 65′ Windy I would take a bit to fill up.
Meanwhile C had headed to the patisserie at the dockside for coffee. Apparently my instant was wearing on her. I had stopped in yesterday and the lovely French lady tried to sell me on pain au chocolate and croissants. No baguettes, though: that would have really made it like France.
Anyway, having given up on water and having a schedule to keep, my inner antsy decided it was time to cast off. A brief discussion brought us to the conclusion that I could drive straight ahead after the merest of pushes off the dock and them use the empty slip in front to swivel my bow around. It pretty much happened exactly like that. A boat was just about to enter our finger, but he backed off when he saw us exiting.
Out of Ganges Harbour and up Trincomali Channel, and then we scooted into Houston Passage to swing by Conover Cove for a peak. Someone was right behind me so I looped back and waved him in since we weren’t stopping. He got the last spot at the dock and I felt virtuous …
Just before we reached Wallace Island (where Conover Cove is) we heard a Victoria Coast call about a boat adrift off Atkins Reef in Trincomali Channel. I asked L to look up where that was for interest’s sake, but Trincomali Channel is pretty long and odds were we weren’t anywhere near. Turns out we had passed Atkins Reef about 10 minutes earlier and I could have made it back in under 5 if I opened up the throttles. But between the fact that others were responding and I wouldn’t know what to do anyway, we just maintained our heading and listened along on the radio.
I was going to duck past Mowgli Island back into Trincomali, but we spotted a hovercraft in Clam Bay so I stayed our course and scooted by him. It was a Coast Guard hovercraft and I think he was doing buoy maintenance. Unfortunately he was shut down by the time we got there but it gave me an excuse to run the Pearl up to 19 knots for about 4 minutes. Fun stuff; too bad it triples gas consumption.
I went below and fired up the generator because I needed a cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure if running the generator under way was acceptable but Google’s consensus was it was fine: “How else could you run your air conditioning?” It sure is a sign of the times when I can Google boating questions while under way. Not sure why we bother to learn anything… :-). Anyway, Leslie ran the helm from the fly bridge while I coffeed up.
40 minutes or so later we approached Dodd Narrows at almost exactly slack. Perfect planning on my part or dumb luck? A little of both, I guess. We transited smoothly and headed up Northumberland Channel on our way back to Nanaimo. L went below and a few minutes later my lunch appeared courtesy of the magic C-fairy. No one joined me on the windy bridge to eat, though.
Into Nanaimo Harbour and we headed for the fuel dock; I wanted to fuel up to night to save time in the AM. There was a lovely 1920s-era wood boat at the dock and for a moment I was going to chicken out and circle around after he’d left. Eventually pride got the better of me and I brought my behemoth in smoothly in front of the old boat: probably my best dock of the trip. 550+ dollars later and the tanks were full. We cast off and putted back towards Mark Bay and our date with a mooring buoy; we didn’t unship the anchor once this trip.
We picked out a buoy close in to Newcastle Island and C snagged it neatly from the swim grid. Too bad this is our last day; we might be getting good at this. We lowered the tender, shut off the engines and slathered on some sun screen. It was 3 pm by now and we wanted to do some exploring of Newcastle Island. I rearranged the dinghy seating; previously we had tried Someone in back and someone in front as well as Someone in back and someone beside me. Both times the dinghy ran pretty slow. This time I tried L in the bow and C beside me. L got a bit wet at low speeds as we slapped into waves and wakes, but after we got free of the anchorage I opened her up and she popped up on a plane sweet as could be. Again, too bad it’s our last night. Anyway we zipped around for giggles for a bit and then headed into the docks. As we arrived we realized that once again no one had noted the bouy number. Out into the bay, crank the throttle and zoom around the outside back to our boat. I’m pretty sure we were making some wakes for everyone, but hell, we were young and enjoying ourselves.
A smooth docking with the dinghy (something else I am finally mastering) and we headed onto the island. This island is a park run by natives with beaches and trails and some interpretive stuff. We bought an ice cream cone or three (maple walnut of L and B, Nanaimo for C) and walked along the trails. Near the docks was an old quarry where they used to get pulp millstones from for shipping across the continent. Giant tubes of sandstone were cut from the ground and used to grind wood into pulp.
Eventually we followed a trail that took us to the foot of the bay and we doffed our shoes and paddled (not piddled) in the warm water. It’s a great view and quiet and peaceful. After a bit we dried off and headed in the general direction of the docks. We toodled around the point and eventually arrived back at the tender. Aboard once more I scooted across the channel to the public docks and we ogled the rich and famous aboard 60ft-plus yachts. Back into the channel I zoomed around a bit hopping wakes for the entertainment of crew and then slowly threaded our way back to the Ocean Pearl.
An ice-cold beer awaited (our last) and we savoured the taste as we relaxed and ate yet another bag of Doritos. After a bit C started to growl and we sent her off to the galley to play with our evening’s loin. I contributed a beautifully made foil bag for veggies and started the BBQ (which in reality is a Sea-B-Que) and then settled back to blog while dinner magically transformed itself from raw flaccid meat into delicious C-loin: which is different from sea lion. Oh, and I poured some wine … I am sooooo helpful!
What can I say. Meat magic. Sigh.
What followed was a drunken discussion of faith with a sidebar on Christianity and pre-seasoned goose. And the night faded into a 2.5 bottle of red evening…
Oh, and ask me some day about the Ukrainian Bastille Day and the gift of the pop-up Karma Sutra…
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