the reverse curve of time

~ From Coop ~

The Curve of Time, the book we love so much and have been inspired by in many ways is made up of short stories, a widow and her 5 children experiencing and exploring the land, the water, the people they run into, and their perception of growing through time. For the younger kids in the book, it’s about growing up, for Cappy the mom, it’s about growing stronger and sharing adventurous experiences with her family to mark the precious moments of time, and the tides mark roughly every six hours, and the rings of the stumps in logging camps mark the centuries. Comparative notes from their adventures over different years mark the changes from past experiences to present.

In some ways I think of The Curve of Time like memories compared to the anticipation of an experience. Like a colleague saying in the winter months “I can’t wait to go to _______ for a week on vacation because it will be so nice to _______.” I’ve had some nice one week vacations too, but it rarely feels like enough time to actually slow down. Sure you might sleep in a little, or get to escape the daily responsibilities of home, but those week long jaunts feel very different than spending months on a boat, doing mostly whatever we want whenever we want. Sometimes we eat breakfast in the afternoon, sometimes we have cheese and crackers for dinner; the marking of time by meals has not been nearly as consistent as the tides, or the mosquitoes who seem to show up around 9 wherever we go for their late evening European style vampire fest.

One of my strongest childhood memories from our now-sequestered cabin on Guemes Island was waking up with all the cedar blinds drawn shut, my parents attempt to have me sleep in past sunrise. But I could see the reddish glow of sunrises over Mt Baker from under the door and had to get up. Was the water calm and I could beg my dad to take me waterskiing? Was it windy and I could go watch the waves crash on the beach tumbling and mixing the rocks and gravel, revealing more agates for the finding and losing? Was it misty and quiet and I could walk alone in the woods listening to birds and looking at the different things sprouting through the mossy forest floor? I could never sleep in, and to this day I still feel a deep sense of FOMO (fear of missing out) if I take a nap or sleep in.

I first came to Walsh Cove with Dick Shryock, one of my early sailing instructors. He had invited me to fly up to Refuge Cove to replace crew who had to fly home. I think it was the summer after 9th grade, but it may have been earlier. My memories of it were highlighted with cliff jumping and swimming in warm water, huge hillsides of forest and rock rising from the bright green water that is even brighter because of the glacier water mixing in from Toba Inlet to the north. Most of the places we have visited have been slightly skewed by the time that has passed between visits. For example Teakern Arm was way deeper, rocky and exposed than I remembered, the hike to Cassel lake was longer and rockier too.

In the same way that seeing a house from your childhood as an adult, the memories are different, curved over time. But Walsh Cove was exactly as I remembered it, except even more beautiful, taller hillsides, whiter mountain peaks, and warmer water. We originally planned (we haven’t been planning much) to stay in Walsh for a night or two, and ended up staying for 4. Warm-cloudless days with gentle breezes were perfect for sailing Sweetpea our Ranger Minto dinghy with a custom oversized balanced lug rig. This classic looking tiny boat has enough sail to really scoot along even with big dogs like Coop and Nate in it. We took turns sailing it for hours, in between the reefs, accross Waddington channel around little islands. Some places in Walsh the rocky cliffs were so steep that I could sail within inches of the wall, looking up to over hanging cliff sides that must feel as close to getting barreled by a wave as you can get in a 9 foot sailing dinghy.

We have cut up many boxes from our Rainier equivalent favorite beer from up here, Lucky Lager and placed these little lucky logos around the boat. One for each of our collages of friends and family photos and a bunch of random ones to remind us, like pinching ourselves how lucky we feel to be able to spend the time to actually slow down. If time is money, then we are barons, but in terms of non-boat related expenses (so food and beverages) we are right around the cost of 6 days in a Mexico per person, we have been gone almost 6 weeks. We feel lucky!

There is always lots of work to do on the boat – it takes us roughly 2 hours to pack up our flotilla of paddle boards and the sailing dinghy and organize the deck and down below bunks so that we can weigh the anchor and sail or motor to our next spot. These stops where we spend multiple nights are recharging, slow enough to make time for reading, drawing, resting, swimming, spending hours with the spotting scope watching birds in the water and sky.

My parents used to take me to boat launch ramps and I would spend hours observing how people could or couldn’t back up trailers, raise and lower their motors, tie up their boats etc. I loved the physical process and requirements of boating. And in the same way that the sliver of light under the door would draw me away from sleeping in, the sailing tasks aboard are all part of it, and I wouldn’t miss out on any of it!

When I sailed to New Zealand everyone along the way said “you should have seen this in the __’s” fill in the blank decade. Almost like a surfer saying “you should have been here yesterday.” Up here things are in constant change. Logging camps still exist, aquaculture is everywhere, houses are built and old cabins melt back into the earth as trees grow through them and reclaim their spot. Boats are built, and boats are lost, kids and grandkids see each turn of a channel as new, each time they cleat the row boat off or learn a new knot as an opportunity for growth. Simultaneously this mostly retired cruising population just wants to see that bend in the channel again, or try that fishing hole that was so good to them years ago, or to just be able to safely exit that dinghy to have the opportunity to tie it up before their curve of time drifts away.

I don’t feel like we are trying to pack as much beauty into each day as possible, I’m not yet ticking off the remaining days of summer like a Christmas advent calendar, the daily sweet reminders that this is all fleeting, we have only the things we see, hear and feel today, the memories from the past and the hope that we can remember them.