By Maryanna Gabriel
 |
| Ganges Harbour |
My heart warmed, the kayak restocked with provision, and with the exciting addition of a cook stove, I paddle in style out of the harbour. Darkness falls and I make my way contentedly in the moonlight. The harbour is dotted with islands and I knew where I was going. The water was as still as glass. I am headed to a beautiful beach on Third Sister Island, a very special place. I sleep deeply in spite of someone hacking and vomiting on a nearby sailboat. The next day dawned, and I explore with pleasure. Later, the day brought teenage boys, drinking beer and making a ruckus. I decided peace was a priority and putting my book aside I made the decision to leave. Immediately I knew I had made a mistake. As I crossed the water to shore, I found myself in whitecaps which threatened to swamp me. Cursing the lack of a hatch cover, fear welled up inside of me as waves broke against the kayak. This was clearly dangerous.
Prayer flew from my lips. Shakily, I
made it to the other side and rested in the shadow of a dark looking house that
seemed to have eyes although there was no visible sign of life. There was no other spot readily apparent for the tide was high. While waterfront
is public at beach level, it seemed I had no choice. I watched the surf warily and the wind only
picked up. Reluctantly I made camp. Dinner was delicious. I settled back, my stomach at
least satisfied, and stared at the strange upright piles of stones and "found" objects that littered the beach. They
seemed to be fetishes. It was downright creepy. I could not shake the feeling I was being watched. The
moon rose and I drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
I awoke with a start. Something was
very wrong. Wind or no wind, I wanted out of this place. It was giving me
goose bumps. I had no clock but I judged it to be past midnight. The
sea boiled around me as I launched. I crossed a bay and heard something that
made my blood run cold. There were sucking noises as waves arose out of
nowhere and lifted and crashed. Never before had I experienced such a grim sound. My blood ran cold. I
paddled with all my strength through boiling cauldrons of water as I struggled with whirl pools, the winds roaring around me. In my minds eye I imagined what it would be like
sitting by the fire reading about this epic, wishing very much I was in that armchair. It crossed my mind I might die. If swamped, I thought in all
probability I would be able to swim to shore, once the kayak sank. I imagined
knocking on one of the doors of the houses, a sorry sodden mess, spending years
of my life paying back the lost equipment. Somehow, carrying on like this, and
muttering implications to heavenly hosts, I made it to Long Harbour