A Stuart day to remember

1/15/12
...the small branches were so delicate among the thick bark trunks that rose up to that height, and on their very tippy tips were green buds with that tender fuzz that always speaks of new life. Seeing the green so much before spring, especially on a cold winter day that makes all things tremble and hide, was even more striking. And yet, this particular big leafed maple, the Mother Tree, The One, The Center of All Things, is capable of a great many things that defy easy understanding.

The One

Amy reached out and held one, excited at the beauty of the bud, and drew my attention to it. It was certainly a precious little burst of green, and a microcosm of all that was perfect and whole and exquisite about this entire day.

Piles of snugs

The morning began with a bed full of Windropes all smashed into one pile of snug. We all slept until forever, and then moving out of some deep unnecessary we stirred together for a while of piling. The boys are miserable cuddlers with all their elbows and knees and fussing and talking and poking, and yet the mere fact of their presence makes it all so wonderful.

It was up to me to start the vertical part of the day and by lighting the stove. This was prompted by it being 43 degrees again this morning on Aeolus, which for reasons probably related to the constancy of the ocean temperature seems to be the default onboard winter temperature.


Amy rose soon after and made fresh French Toast. Read that again and consider it for a moment...We are in Reid Harbor, Stuart Island in January, alone in the whole frozen place and a million, billion, trillion miles away from the horde of humanity and all the comfortable machinery of non-living and yet we are eating fresh French Toast. Perhaps it is merely me, but this alone fills me with a profound gratitude for Amy, and the whole menagerie of other interconnected parts that make French Toast on Aeolus in January in Reid Harbor possible. I've spent too much time deep in wilderness to not appreciate every simple luxury and culinary indulgence.

It was absolutely delicious.

The weather forecast has been threatening lowland snow for days now. Last night was utterly clear and there was a solid blanket of stars to bedazzle. No snow. Maybe it'll snow overnight, we hoped. But we woke this morning to yet more blue skies and not a hint of snow. It was cold, certainly below 32 degrees, and yet we had an umbrella of blue skies.

 

Looking south down Reid Harbor in early morning.

We head out to Tip Top with only the expectation of a grand adventure. All day the sun shone bright and clear here, while all around Stuart the heavy dark clouds were certainly dropping sleet and snow. And yet here we were, in bright sun. Clear, bright sun. Our walk up to Tip Top was wonderful, with a fun stop at the school for the boys to swing and Amy and I to do some exercises and stretching.

Looking north toward Salt Spring

Once on top, we were overcome with the grandeur of the light, the views and our selves. The light all around was sharp and warm. Warm enough that we sat for long periods absorbing the rays through our eyelids and consciousness. We melted like butter sitting in the sun, and like butter we became smooth. The views out to the maze of islands bewilders the mind and delights the deepest senses. I can't describe the quality of views from this high Haro perch other than to express that they wholly satisfy any craving for interest and beauty that I possess.

The icicles that hung from rocks near where we laid were endlessly interesting. They dripped a bit and created beautiful patterns of bubbles. Owen broke one off and enjoyed painting his lips with the ice, like a mustache marker. Elliott used his like a sword, of course, and battled demons all over the hill top.

There were mouflon sheep up top and they had new lambs with them. So cute.

After satiating ourselves with sunshine (no small task), we decided to journey south along the ridge.

All day we had bald eagles soaring around us. Amy had to duck once when she heard one fly right above her head. So close indeed that she could see his thoughts as he passed over.

Walking south along the ridge was a journey of magnificent moments. The terrain itself is like a wonderland of interests. Here a madrone, there a boulder, a dip and rise to work your thighs, an oak below and a fir above and everywhere a green garden of moss, lichen and grass cushioning your steps. It is really quite like a carefully choreographed dance routine designed to fill your body, heart and soul with joy. This step here, turn and look, bend a bit, lean and step, pause to behold...

As you walk south you encounter place after place that compels you to stay a while.

Eventually you end up at a promontory looking due south out over San Juan Channel and all the islands clustered there. For every moment there was an epiphany. Jones, Orcas with snow! How did they get snow while we had none? We took a load of pictures because the sights kept screaming for it. There is a marsh in the middle of this isthmus of Stuart and this promontory looks down over it to the distant landscapes. And yet this large marsh seems to frame the whole scene. Magnificent.

There is no way to express the perfection of this walk in this blog. It was deeply felt and nourishing. It was right and good beyond any reckoning. It filled parts of us that have no description.

Perhaps the best way to convey the way this walk, and this day, made us all feel was that Elliott broke into a spontaneous rendition of "The hills are alive with the sound of music" in a moment of sheer mindless joy, and it seemed utterly perfectly fitting.